Category Archives: I Am An Ass

My most epic baking fail ever.

cakefailtooThis post is not easy to type, but needs to be written. I’m about to openly admit that I am a forgetful loser, but there’s a good chance I will still come through (albeit in a lame and embarrassing way.)

I forget a lot of things. I blame my medications for most of it, as living a life on a daily dose of prescribed seizure medications, xanax and wellbutrin do have side effects like “don’t give a shits” that land you on planet la la land. My short term memory is comparable to a gnat some days.

When I opened the store in 2010, I had no idea how hard it was going to be. We bake our cake every day. Over the course of the past three years, I’ve gotten particularly snobby about cake. I admit it. Sometimes, I order cake when I’m out to eat, just to laugh at how bad it is. Servers in the restaurants will notice I took one bite and ask “didn’t you like the cake?” Me: “I was just testing it out.” It’s not the servers fault, why make them feel weird that their employer serves over-priced, prepackaged shitty dessert items to people who just don’t know better. One of my biggest gripes? Big box stores and grocery chains that sell “custom” cakes for a quarter of the price we are able to charge. Well, obviously they can charge next to nothing, you’re eating a mouthful of cheap preservative filled vegetable shortening from a tub, globbed on top of chemical filled mass quantity produced frozen/boxed/shipped cake. And not only are they cheap, they’re fast, convenient, and will stay fresh for 3 years.

Have you ever been so buried and bogged down with life that you worry you might forget everything? I’m not talking about just paying the cellphone bill or a your yearly pap smear appointment. I have worried about forgetting things like my own child’s birthday party. Father’s Day. An anniversary. Of course I am capable of forgetting important nonfluctuating days pre-printed in a universal calendar like Valentine’s Day, so forget about remembering events that fluctuate like Leap Year. I even started a daily vitamin cocktail in the am and pm to help with memory- vitamin B, folic acid, fish oil, because dementia sucks.

Friday night in the midst of a marital tiff at the Tega Cay house, my phone rang. A little something like this:

me: “Hi Jules, what’s going on?”

Jul: “well, I was just wondering where you are?”

me: “I’m at the house, what’s up?”

Jul: “well, I was wondering if you’re coming?”


me: “What? Where are you?”

Jul: “um….(awkward silence) I’m at Kenna’s (her daughter’s) birthday party…”

me: (dry-heave) “I’m, &^*$ omg, sorry… on the way.”

Not only were we over an hour late for the party, guess who was suppose to have the cake? This loser. The party was ending at 8, I had 50 minutes to get cake, get across town, and try to somewhat band aid one of the biggest screw ups EVER.

I had to do the unthinkable.

I had to go to the grocery store and buy a sheet cake. Do you KNOW how it felt to walk in a store and buy cake? The girls at work laughed at me when I told them, “why a sheet cake? An ice cream cake is forgivable!” I agree and I got one of those, too. But I couldn’t show up without something somewhat personalized. It was as if someone was stabbing me in the face–a bakery owner buying a grocery store cake. We don’t have a secret stash of cake out back or a cupcake bush to pick from at the last second, so I couldn’t even pop in my own cupcake shop to get something. LOSER. Any time you’re worried you fucked up at work or in general, remember Heather the baker going in to Harris Teeter to take a sheet cake to a birthday party for someone else’s child. Do you think I wasn’t recognized at the store? I was. A woman’s face I’m somewhat familiar with was throwing me shade while I checked out. I even tried to walk with the 2 cakes stacked in front of my face to detour any unwanted stares or eyerolls. Too late. Shamed. We made it to the party with the sheet cake and ice cream cake with about 6 minutes to spare.

Lessons learned- Make sure my calendar dates are not just saved in my cell, that they have multiple reminder alarms to alert me to how stupid I would be if I forgot x, y, or z. Also, while grocery store cake might be tasteless, cheap and easy, at least it is fast and convenient. It doesn’t matter that the food coloring makes your poop purple for 3 days.


This is what you get when you say mean things and judge others, even if it’s just about cake.

Karma, bitches. stress


Mumford & Sons vs. Superbowl XLVI


Backtrack two months ago. TPO, KP and I were planning a trip to Boston to see Mumford & Sons, because there’s nothing smarter than going to Boston in February.

I’ve never been to Boston but I will forever remember the smell getting off of the plane. Fishsticks.

We dropped our crap at the Omni and headed out to watch Superbowl. Next to our hotel was a little pub, and through the window we saw an empty table. How a pub had any tables open Superbowl Sunday is beyond me, but I guess the disappointed Patriot fans had the I don’t give a shits that night. Our server Shay asked what the hell we were doing visiting Boston in February and we told her. Then she told us a secret.

“They’re eating in the back of the bar.”

And they were. Tricia stalked scoped them out first. She slinked off to the back, was gone about 2 minutes and came back WITH A PICTURE. That dirty bitch. Then I pouted like a 2 yr old for while before she took me back to say hi. I know it’s hard to believe, but I felt awkward as I interrupted this intimate moment where Marcus and Ted are hovered over giant pastrami sandwiches and guzzling a beer, and Winston & gang were laughing and chatting like real people. Tricia introduced me like they were old chums, and we chatted with some of their entourage, telling them all about how Showtime was airing their Road To Red Rocks Special and it was amazing and OMG….

They had NO idea what the hell I was talking about. So we left them to their food. For a few minutes.

Then we told Shay we wanted to buy them all a drink. Because I don’t care how famous you are, free drinks are awesome. She promptly came back and told us we could go back to see them, but the guys would not allow us to buy them drinks (gentlemen, obviously.) You’ve never seen 4 people move so fast. They had a chat with us, and we sat next to them and watched the rest of the game (while staring like freaks). Then I felt bad as they started to get “recognized”, people in the bar noticed the 4 weirdos stalking a group of dudes sitting in the back that had English accents, smoked like chimneys and were all wearing skinny jeans.

Kismet. What were the odds? This was the BEST Superbowl I never watched.



That time my blog crashed, url expired, & started selling mail order brides.

It’s hard to see it in that picture, but for the 3 people who may or may not still bother looking at my blog- they know.

I won’t get into the 10,000 reasons of why I haven’t been blogging otherwise, just know that the list begins with “laziness”.

And in true Heather fashion, as my dear friend Susan knows so well when I blow the shit up on her rss feed, I will just go back and play catch up a little.

That’s what I do best, half assing it.


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