Beached Cupcakes

Cupcakes on the beach. Completely fabulous. The hearts are a little out of place, but I'll take it.

The long weekend is here. Wedding of the jews, here I come.

Cupcake Timing

Have you ever noticed that people are always talking about bad timing, but rarely about good.

'Oh,' they say, 'he loved me, but I didn't love him, and then I loved him, but he was over me, but maybe it could have worked out, but I was still in love with someone else, but now I miss him, but he loves her.' It's exhausting. (Heavy breathing.)

Of course, bad timing doesn't only affect love. Bad timing can be missing the seemingly last-EVER coveted Los Angeles parking spot, walking into Pinkberry right after the 30-deep family reunion or driving down the 405 anytime of day... All bad timing.

There is good timing, too though. Like when you snag the seemingly last-EVER coveted Los Angeles parking spot, when you walk into Pinkberry and beat the rush (thanks Dad,) or when you glide down the 405 at 80 mph... at 4 in the morning.

You have to wonder, what makes it a 'good time' to do something?

Like when would be a 'good time' for me to stop eating cupcakes... now perhaps?

Twin Cupcakes

Three times today my little sister (by little I mean just shy of 22) and I were asked if we were twins.

TWINS?!!?

Now, I know people say I'll appreciate my baby face when I'm 30, but what about when I'm 25? I am more than three years older than her! Now, granted, my sister and I do look very much alike, but twins? PUH-lease.

Some differences: I have dark, dark hair, hers is lighter. I have generous freckles everywhere, she has hardly a blemish. She has the daintiest 'tennis arms,' sadly, I don't. She can do long division, I went through 6 years of college without ever taking real math. She carries a Gucci purse, I wouldn't dream of it (not that it's a bad thing.) She can pull off flats and still look cute, I can pull off flats, and look, honestly, flat. The list goes on...

However, I would not hesistate to say I was a twin with Andrea if it meant that I could steal some of her best qualities. Like... patience (is a virtue) ease with numbers, & self-confidence.

But, the truth is, she is my best friend, my confidant and the coolest girl I know. But I don't think I'd have to steal those away from her. I'm pretty sure she'd say I am that for her, too.

Plus, who is the first person I call when I want to eat 6 Ralph's cupcakes all at once?

I call that almost 22-year-old I know, that's who.

Childlike Cupakes

I would like to make a statement that... states the obvious.

Act your AGE.

Oh my... I am SO incredibly tired of 30-year-olds acting like they are 5 (notice the adorable little boy to the left eating my favorite!) and surprisingly impressed by certain college-age kids that seem wise beyond their years.

For instance, I was blessed from the good ol' state of Kansas with a fabulous intern at my neverending job. We'll call her Kelly. She was bright, funny, amazing with a credit card machine (I am forever indebted to her for that one,) and I could have sworn she was older than me. Turns out she had just graduated and was embarking on her very first full-time job at E! Entertainment (with help from yours truly I may add.)

On the other hand, I have to come to know some people who at the age of 30 and above have not yet mastered the most elementary pillars of social skills. As in, should you have an ex-girlfriend who you are currently still dating (so then she's not your ex, right?) please don't proceed to then date, well, me. Didn't we learn this is in like, 7th grade?

I did... kind of. Hear me out... When a Mr. Daniel Ruggerio tried to kiss me at Coyote Point after I had been lusting over him for the entire 9 months of 7th grade, and he had completely brushed me off for a young girl named Lena, I got incredibly all huffy, puffy and I told him that just because I had written, 'I love Dan' and 'DR + SG' seriously all over my binder, dividers, and homework, I wasn't about to kiss him now just because he wanted to. Too bad, Dan.

Actually, that wasn't quite how the story goes.

I kissed him back. Gasp! I wish I could have said that I slapped him in all of my 7th grade awesomeness, but the truth was, I was still lusting for him, and I wanted him to see what he had been missing, was going to miss, or possibly, what he would want forever. (I was very much all about forever even at the ripe old age of 13. Has nothing changed at 25?)

At least I was comfortably eating 3 chocolate chip cookies every day at recess (oh, how I miss recess!) and not thinking a thing about it. Ah, the good old days.

Not sure when the cookies switched to cupcakes, but there's a first time for everything...

Cupcakes All Gone

Goal #1 for tomorrow at the 3rd annual gaucho pool party.

Do not eat cupcakes in multiples.

Ok.

Goodnight.

Holy Cupcakes

Hole-y sweet cupcakes.
Late night dreams bounce on frosting.
Hopscotch would be fun.

Black & White Cupcakes

Why do I always feel like I am living my life in gray?

I mean, I have the HARDEST time making decisions. From the smallest 'what should I have for breakfast?' (default: cupcakes) to 'what should I do with my life?' For once I would just like to make a decision, stick to it and go on with my life. Wouldn't it be nice to simply say, 'I will not eat cupcakes.' And actually do it. Forever.

Most people can. Or they can in moderation. I can't... Well sometimes I can, but sometimes I can't and it's like living in this constant flux, or limbo, or gray.

This goes for L.A., too (among other things in my life.) I need a sign. (Silly, right?) Anything to tell me one way or the other if I am doing the right thing with my life. If this is what will make me happy, if this is what I truly want... How will I know? (Sing it, Whitney.)

I have such a love/ hate relationship with L.A. that there are times when I think that L.A. is to cupcakes like cupcakes are to me- more closely related than I would like to admit.

But to begin to even think about leaving L.A. is scary... but maybe I should. Maybe then, cupcakes would leave me alone.

Plus, I hate clowns. (See below.)

Hey Cupcake

Hey cupcake.

Hey cupcake.

Nice hat.

Thanks. I like yours more.

Really? I put it on sideways like those guys that always flash tilted peace signs in photos. I want to be DIFFERENT.

Oh. DIFFERENT. But, we look the same.

We do? This may take more than a hat.

Don't worry, cupcake. You're still sexy.

No, you're sexy.

No, you are.

Are you a Clown Cupcake?

No.

Oh.

Do I look like a clown?

Kind of.

...

Sorry, clown.

Stupid cupcake.

Fugly Cupcake

Friday's food for thought:

That is one UGLY cupcake.

It looks like tile grout twirled atop a ball of mud with a flurry of glue, tic tacs and bird poop for color.

Ew.

Daydreaming Cupcakes

When I was 15, I thought I had my whole life figured out. Ten years later, this is hilarious to me because now I see that I never quite knew exactly what I was going to do or what I was going to be until, well, I was.

However...

I do have a serious imagination. I would daydream sitting in English class about exactly what I thought I would be doing in my mid-twenties. These forays into the depths of 'idealized living at 25' always included one or all of the following:

flowers, a park, a dog, a very cool job, his and hers sinks (and towels- possibly monogrammed,) a backyard (treehouse included) and of course, kids somewhere in the picture, and lots and lots of traveling...

Oh, and my home was definitely going to be the kind found in the pages of my mother's 'Sunset' magazine. (I think she is their only subscriber.) Craftsman, meditteranean, tudor... I was pretty much open to style as long as there were hardwood floors, arch-ways, and character- hence my current 1950's Los Angeles apartment.

To further this 15-year-old's daydream, in this 'Sunset' house I would be queen of the kitchen. I would easily whip up 5-star meals in my state-of-the-art space, decorated in deep wood tones with modern touches. I would bake (you guessed it, cupcakes) with my little guys running around. I would broil, bubble, sautee, and grill all kinds of things with the ease of Miss Paula Dean (minus the 10 pounds of butter so vital to each and every one of her recipes.)

Of course to balance this 'Miz Suzy Homemaker'-ness of my life, I would be the jet-setting travel, fashion, music, and art editorial maven that I still dream about. I would get paid to travel to vacation to experience. And I would write and write and write some more.

This was the daydream of a high-school teen.

There is something absent from this daydream... the boy. I think I already knew that he could be many things, and everything and nothing at all. And that to dream about him would be a lie. While I navigate this 'dating' thing at 25, I sometimes think I may have already met him. Maybe he was a big love, or maybe we've been on only one date, or maybe even I simply passed him on the street.

Or maybe, he is out there... with cupcakes.

Cupcakes in 3's

A very wise blonde once told me good things happen in 3's. I think I believe her.

Three 's can be as small as a compliment, an unexpected phone call, a zero-calorie cupcake. (I wish daily for the latter.) Or, they can be bigger, a beautiful evening, a first kiss, a new friend.

I like to go by the saying 'when one cupcake closes, another one opens.'

I believe that too.

Frosted Cupcakes

Midnight ticks closer.

An evening out, sans cupcakes.

Frosted sleep licks me.

Video Killed the Cupcake

Recently I have been subjected to several lengthy converstations during work about Tivo, Direct TV, Satelite, DVR, etc. Now I may be archaic, but I am not aching for what has been termed digital video recording, or recorded video or what have you. I wax nostalgic for go ol' DVD, or for that matter, VHS...

Remember the days when life was simple, and you only had email and VHS? Kind of simple, I suppose. Ah, good times. I have a vivid memory of heading off to college at Santa Barbara in the ancient year of 2000 with a box full of my favorite VHS tapes- Clueless being the favorite at the time. (How I wanted that Catholic school girl look... Only a tad ironic since I am of course, the Jew next door.)

Along with the influx of 'stopping time' television, what has happened to the art (if you can even call it that) of dating? For boys, all it takes is cupcakes, really. Or actually, flowers for most, cupcakes for yours truly.

A few rules on the subject of dating:

1. Always bring cupcakes. They do have frosting. And frosting can be used in more ways than one.

2. If you have plans, keep them. If you have to change them, change them. But don't change them in middle of the plans you were supposed to keep. Follow?

3. Kiss her. She wants you to. And you should. Most girls are not THAT shy. And if they are out with you, they will most definitely hint in a very blatant way if they DO NOT want to be kissed. Anything else = a KISS.

4. Write. Always write. Writing allows you to sound like a regular poet without tripping over any words. In my case 'like' is no where to be found in my written prose. A gift from above, if you ask me. (Disclaimer: This rule only applies to those with a way with words. You know who you are.)

5. Don't fuck up.

Sunday Cupcakes

What is it about Sundays? Sunday mornings, Sunday afternoons, Sunday evenings...

On one hand there's relief because it's Sunday, and Sunday should be a day of rest. But there's also a sense of anxiety, for me at least...

Is it wrong to simply do laundry and sleep and read? Shouldn't I be down frolicking in the blue muddy waters of the pacific, bbq-ing with friends in the heat of Los Angeles, taking long strolls down the promenade in oversized sunglasses? Not neccesarily...

So what to do with a Sunday? Aside from cupcake eating, of course...

Let's go with scenario 1: Say you wake up at a boy's house (may he be your steady or quite possibly, something else entirely) but regardless... perhaps you two go to breakfast or brunch or whatever it is people can't seem to get enough of in L.A., judging by the obnoxious crowd at Toast on a late Sunday morning. I mean, WHAT could be so good to warrant a two hour wait on 3rd street. Oh, that's right, it's the SCENE... so sorry.

(On a side note, whether it's Toast, or a hole in the wall cafe, I have not been known to enjoy the perks of what you folk call 'Sunday Brunch.' BUT- I now believe I could be swayed into this so-called 'morning rite-of-passage... Are there cupcakes at brunch?)

Back to scenario 1... You're at Toast with your boy (friend, toy, feel free to 'fill in the blank,') and you wait your allotted two hours, and you eat, and then you nonchalantly decide to go to the beach, because really, what else do you have to do? Oh, except for all of the 1,372 things that you meant to catch up on during the week, but that thing you do 10 hours a day got in the way... your job.

But what the hell, right? It's Sunday, and it's 100 degrees, so the beach sounds perfect. However, you then realize you're in L.A., and since it's now 3:00PM (remember the 4 hour Toast experience,) you actually can't get to the beach, because traffic is unbearable. This is of course due to socialite #895 who was talking on her fancy new i phone (OMG that thing is HOT) and crashed her car into a telephone poll. I love L.A.

With the beach idea slowly fading from memory, you opt for the boring mundane tasks of Sunday- errands. But hey, at least you're doing it together...

Scenario 2: You wake up in your own bed and you think, my goodness... you have nothing to do. And this, my friend, is the best news you have gotten all week. After a 16 mile run on Saturday, you want this day. A cupcake-free day that is yours and only yours.

You can do anything...

You can stay in bed wrapped in cool white sheets.

You can read to your heart's content... still in bed.

You can do your laundry in peace.

You can walk to the park and lay in the sun.

You can listen to a full hour of the NPR's 'Wait, Wait,' just because.

You can go for a walk without running.

You can go for a bike ride with no destination.

You can meet your grandparents for dinner, and know you made their day.

You can be... happy.

Haiku Cupcake

I dreamt of cupcakes.
Covered in rainbow sprinkles.
My pillow's missing.

Cupcakes After Dark

Cupcakes take on an omniscient glow after dark. This happens at the same time that I am enjoying my favorite part of the day, where the sun sets and dusk settles over Los Angeles making it half light, half night, and exposing some of the beauty that even this city holds, if only for a few minutes between evening and day.

However, while I am basking in the soft light of the end of day, my mind is running a marathon, gently nudging me into the game of rationalizing cupcakes.

Here are the rules:

1. Pretend that it's perfectly fine to eat cupcakes for dinner... or after dinner.

2. Tell myself that if I want cupcakes, then I should eat cupcakes, because I deserve them, right? Right. I am tired, sad, lonely, bored, happy or excited. Notice none of these say 'hungry.'

3. Enjoy the cupcakes for maybe 10 minutes, probably less.

4. Instantly regret the decision & feel incredibly guilty.

5. Want nothing more than to never eat cupcakes again & wonder how that will ever be possible.

Rinse and repeat.

Epilogue: This did not happen tonight. One night down...

Surprise Cupcakes!

Among the more interesting things that have happened to me in the past 2 days:

I produced my first official film premiere, '2 Days in Paris.' Is that title ironic? I don't know. I do know I have spent 2 Days in Paris. I like to keep those 2 Days still, in a frame. I ate zero cupcakes in Paris.

I met actor Adam Goldberg... a striking, handsome, ridiculously talented... jew. He asked for my card and gently placed it among his 1,478 other cards he had collected. Surprise!

However, and unfortunately, Mr. Goldberg was also believed (allegedly- thank you usc) to be using cocaine. Does everyone in this town called L.A. substitute cupcakes with coke? That was most likely a rhetorical question.

I ate real sushi for the first time. And liked it.

I rode my brand new beach cruiser (courtesy of andrea) to work, a-la Santa Barbara style. Who says you have to drive everywhere in L.A.? My beautiful little sister took a picture of me like it was my first day of school. Classic.

I have had many moments of a-ha's in the past 2 days. I have been surprised, both pleasently and not so pleasently. I have worn short shorts (a feat to be remembered) for the first time in a long time. I have decided I will always have very, very dark hair. I have stopped obsessing about new sun kisses- freckles. I have a handful of very special friends who I would do anything and everything for. I have an amazing little sister who knows me better than I know myself.

I have had many a-ha moments... but no such a-ha with cupcakes. Surprise...

Ex- Cupcake

Sometimes you just need a cupcake. But it can't be just be any old cupcake. It has to be just the right one... The one that speaks to you from its little plastic prison. The one that says, take me, it will be OK, and I will comfort you. The one that knows exactly what you need right at that very moment.

An escape; an embrace; a friend; can be a cupcake.

And to quote one of my dear friends tonight... 'a cupcake would be good right about now.

This photo's for you...'

A Cupcake & A Boy

How I would describe a cupcake:

Cupcakes are that special, irreplaceble blend of sweet, soft, fluffy and creamy... kind of like a boy, but edible. Cupcakes have frosting that tastes good by itself or ever better with the cake in one full bite... kind of like a boy- OK alone, but SO MUCH better with you.

Cupcakes can't judge you, make fun of you, tell you they don't love you.

Cupcakes can't leave you... kind of like a boy might do.

But then again, cupcakes can't make you feel like you are the only thing in the room, the only thing that matters, or will ever matter. Cupcakes can't love you. That, only a boy can do.

That is the difference between a cupcake and a boy.

Cupcakes in a Row

Somebody told me I was an adult today. My response, 'really?' The thing is, I know I'm 25 so technically, I am a 'grown-up,' as I would have said as a child. But what does it mean to be all grown-up? Am I supposed to wake up one day and have an epithany that I am now an adult? What happens when you hit 25 and you start to feel like you need to get your ducks in a row, and start being the adult that you are expected to be.

I'll tell you what happens... you eat cupcakes. Well, actually, I eat cupcakes, but truth be told, I haven't had a cupcake in months now. However, that doesn't mean I haven't substitued a variety of other edibles over the past year+ in their place.

Stress= cupcakes. (or 1 tub of cool whip)

Exhaustian= cucpakes. (or 6 english muffins)

Sadness= cupcakes. (or 5 spoonfulls of peanut butter)

And...

Happiness= cupcakes. (or 4 bowls of cheerios)

Celebration= cupcakes. (or 3 chocolate chip cookies)

Just because= cupcakes. (or... cupcakes?)

Cupcakes= comfort... or they used to.

Writing this down= the past familiar comfort of cupcakes.

C is for Cupcake

C is for Cupcake... in August. I wanted to write on August 2nd (I have a thing for even numbers... don't ask,) but time got away from me... Regardless, I'll tell you that I have a habit of looking ahead to where I will be a month from now... in this case, on September 2nd I will be at a wedding. A big, fat, Jewish wedding with a bridal party bigger than a rock band and several single Jewish men, all 5'9" and under of course... a mother's paradise, a daughter's nightmare. As much as the height of most Jewish men, (there is the exception to the rule) concerns me on a daily basis, (another reason why I am drawn to TALL boys) my main source of worry is the fact that 2 months ago I set a goal with myself to look VERY different for this wedding, than I did back on June 2nd. So now it's August 2nd, and well, I am better off than I was then, but not nearly close enough to where I know I could be, and want to be. So, because of this overwelming sense of failure that occurs day in and day out, I like to then torment myself with the question, why? It is torment, you know, although I try to alternate torment with positive thinking... like, 'I still have a month to get there, and everyday counts, and I CAN do this.' Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. So far, I'm OK. It's funny though, I can run a marathon- which is really all a mental game- but I can't let go of food. If I so desperately want to, then why can't I?

I'll give you a cupcake if you can tell me the answer.