Category Archives: people behaving badly

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



IMG_4544Or to everyone not from that area, Boston.

Those temperatures are completely unacceptable.

I don’t like to be cold, but wanted to see Mumford and Sons, and had never been to Boston. Tricia put her magic spin on the trip (Kelly & Heather, you will do as I say) and reminded us how “affordable” off season travel is. That is, if you don’t factor in multiple bar bills from drinking alcohol in order to stay numb enough not to care it’s below freezing all day.

Not gonna lie, the snow was pleasant and it snowed all three nights we were there. At night it sparkles and looks so charming, Tricia hollering down the sidewalk in awe, mouth gaping open trying to eat flakes, like each time was the first time she’d ever seen snow.


The wind was not so cute. My souvenirs all came from sporting good stores and were labeled “North Face.” Because what could be a more appropriate memento of Boston than ski wear.


 Being inappropriate is kinda my thing. Give me a few bloody mary’s for breakfast after a 12 hour bender and you get this.

IMG_4546 IMG_4548

John Hancock’s grave. The joke is in the design of his headstone.

IMG_4543 IMG_4640

View from the hotel window. It even looks cold, right?

The Omni Parker House is where they “invented” Boston Cream Pie. Bringing food and history together in one place delights me. I am originally from the city known for chicken wings (and unimpressed with snow.)

IMG_4568 IMG_4578

Obligatory bridge shot- The Tobin Bridge and Fenway Park.

Thank you, trolley tour, because city tour buses = destination cliff notes.


 We get down and dirty when we have fun, this moment resulted in us being cut off at the bar.


 And finally the event we went to Boston for in the first place.




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.



small business, small problems.

Friday was the worst day I’ve ever had in terms of dealing with customers.

I wasn’t in a bad mood, either. The weather outside was sucky, cold, wet, and people were absolutely MISERABLE even though it was a Friday. My day started with an ass ripping at 8:30am because I didn’t make cheesecake. Proceeded by a hang up because I can’t deliver when 2 people are working. Followed up by a few more completely rude comments, one included a lecture by a person who told me “I disappointed her” because I didn’t make a flavor she likes best. She was not kidding or trying to be funny, she just wanted to be mean because she wasn’t getting her way.

Not to be outdone by the elderly couple that screamed at one of the girls and stormed out because we didn’t have sweet tea cupcakes and they saw us make it on the tv…and read about it in a magazine…and what a terrible business we are for not having what they wanted at that very second.

Everyday we promise vanilla, chocolate, red velvet and carrot. The rest is a combination of flavors ordered by customers, and the remainder is up to me. Because it’s my business. And no, I don’t always have fresh blueberries in the store. But is there really ever a reason to belittle, harass and be hateful to the bakers of a cupcake shop?

Sure, if we make a mistake I can see someone being upset. And I don’t pass the buck, I will OWN a mistake. But don’t come in the store and behave as if the world is going to end because I don’t have peanut butter today. When people bitch me out, they’re talking to the owner. I’m not corporate, I’m a real person with feelings. I pay real bills, I write every check.

I’m not a person to unleash your demons on as therapy because you had a shitty day. I just bake cupcakes. If I wanted to get treated like crap, I’d go back to teaching.

You also don’t own me because you spent $2.50. I have people who talk down to me as if I’m a second class citizen. It’s mind blowing, really. Guess what? I don’t tuck myself in  to bed using sheets of cash because I’m a baker. I make cupcakes, and I don’t use cheap ingredients to make a quick buck. Actually, it’s quite the opposite, I often have orders I break even on or have lost money with because I was trying to make someone happy. What an idiot in terms of business.

But that’s how I work. And trust me- I WORK. I go to work everyday, and yes someone is shitty to me at least once a day. But I try not to let that one person get me down because for every horrible person I’m faced with, there are 10 people behind them smiling at me. And I’m SO grateful for them. Even if I’m stuck ending my day with a passive aggressive email from some jealous nut job who wants to tell me how much they hate me.

I hope it makes them feel better, because it surely makes me giggle. {insane in the membrane…} All I’m saying is, the next time you want to go bonkers on someone because you don’t like a service, product, whatever- first think about who you are talking to. The girl who answers the customer service line at Verizon didn’t eff up your bill.

Take a deep breath, keep your cool, and find some humor in it.

It’s cupcakes, not cancer. Remember that.