What a string of six o'clock shifts looks like.

Day One: Wake up fairly alert and scurry to shut off alarm before it wakes The Husband. Tip-toe silently through a dark bedroom gathering clothes and other things I might need. Gently open and close the bedroom door. Spend five minutes posing in front of the bathroom mirror. Brush teeth, wash face, moisturize, pluck two stray eyebrow hairs. Brush hair and lightly spritz myself with Escada's Sunset Heat. Get dressed, grab lunch and my purse. Arrive to work on time and cheerfully greet coworkers. (Okay, "cheerfully" might be a stretch, but I'm sure I at least smiled.) Contemplate a nap in the afternoon, then decide I'd rather bake instead.

Day Three: Wake up feeling as if ten-pound weights are strapped to my body. Snooze the alarm three times. Sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes rubbing my face as if that'll somehow rub away the fact that it's so early not even Starbucks is open and the only people awake are East Coast bloggers. Haphazardly grope around in the dark for things I might need. Completely ignore The Husband when he gets up to use the facilities after having been woken up from my opening and closing of closet doors and dresser drawers. Arrive to work ten minutes late. Grunt at coworkers and avoid eye contact. Take hour-long nap after arriving home.

Day Five*: Wake up feeling as if I took up boxing lessons the night before. Don't bother snoozing the alarm because WHAT'S THE EFFING POINT!? Turn on all lights and the television. If I'm going to be miserable, so is THAT MAN. Slam the bedroom door. Slam the bathroom door. Splash cold water on my face and skip the shower. Contemplate wearing a hat to work and backhanding anyone who tries to tell me it isn't "in the handbook." Kick the cat as I walk out the door. Arrive to work on time. Eat a candy bar for breakfast because, as far as I'm concerned, calories don't count at UNNATURAL O'CLOCK. Fall asleep sitting at my desk. Receive written warning. Use string of colorful words to tell my boss what I think about it, him, and the whole freaking job. Get escorted from the premises. Knock over a bank on the way home because, obviously, I'm now strapped for funds. Fall asleep in the back of police car.

*Day Five is tomorrow and could, possibly, be an exaggeration, but if you don't hear from me again relatively soon, please send bail money.

Frosted Peanut Butter Cupcakes

I made these cupcakes weeks ago, but then I got all tangled up and crazy about muffins and I forgot about them. And they really don't deserve to be forgotten.

They remind me of carrot cake. Except that they're made with peanut butter. And no carrots at all. Maybe it was just the frosting that reminded me of carrot cake. Maybe carrot cake is way freaking off and you should just forget I ever made the comparison. Thank you.

I very much enjoyed these cupcakes. And I very much enjoyed the frosting. I wanted to use it to frost more than just cupcakes. I'm a tad obsessed, in case you couldn't tell. But is there anything better than cream cheese frosting? I think not. Well, maybe homemade whipped cream.

So, make these cupcakes and forget I ever decided to write this at nearly ten o'clock at night after having been up since five a.m. My "box of chocolates" schedule has started. And it makes me want to cry a little. No, a lot.

Now, I have to go to bed. I have a hot, messy date with 5 a.m. again tomorrow morning, but first? I'm going to have a bowl of fat-free chocolate ice cream and watch a Top Model rerun. And I don't care what you think. (Yes, I do.)

Oh, and whatever you do, do NOT over-bake these cupcakes! I mean, you don't want to over-bake anything, but... you know. And, by "you know" I mean I have absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence.

I think, after eighteen million muffin tries, I'm finally learning how to take things out of the oven when they're done. (Where this fear of under-baking came from, I'm not sure. But, sadly, this means I usually cook everything to brick-like consistency. Brick-like cupcakes? Not so good.)

Frosted Peanut Butter Cupcakes

Ingredients
4 tablespoons butter, softened
1 1/8 cups light brown sugar
1/3 cup crunchy peanut butter
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/3 cup milk

Frosting
1 cup cream cheese
2 tablespoons butter, softened
2 cups confectioners' sugar

Directions
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 12-cup muffin pan with paper liners.

Put the butter, sugar, and peanut butter in a bowl and beat together for 1-2 minutes, or until well mixed. Gradually add the eggs, beating well after each addition, then add the vanilla. Sift in the flour and baking powder and then, using a metal spoon, fold them into the mixture, alternating with the milk. Spoon the batter into the paper liners.

Bake the cupcakes in the preheated oven for 25 minutes, or until well risen and golden brown. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool.

To make the frosting, put the cream cheese and butter in a large bowl and using an electric hand whisk, beat together until smooth. Sift the confectioners' sugar into the mixture, then beat together until well mixed.

When the cupcakes are cold, spread the frosting on top of each cupcake, swirling it with a round-bladed knife. Store the cupcakes in the refrigerator until ready to serve.

(You can go here for a printer-friendly version of the recipe.)

The pictures I wish I would have taken in Phoenix.

1. The huge, pale gold moon that hung low over the desert mountains. My mean husband wouldn't let me stop for pictures.

2. The amazing sushi I had on Friday night after a normally five-hour drive took seven thanks to that wonderful Los Angeles traffic.

3. The creatures that flew frantically above us as we enjoyed a cocktail after dinner. Birds or bats, I'm still not sure.

4. The lazy river. Which totally can't be beat when it's over 100 degrees IN THE SHADE.

5. The girl who lay face-down on her inner-tube as she floated through the lazy river. With pimples on her ass. Come on, now. Either cover it up or don't lay face-down as if your pimples have a FEAR OF DROWNING.

6. Me. After falling asleep in my inner-tube. In the middle of the lazy river. In the middle of tons of people. What can I say? Too much sun and too many adult beverages.

7. Bret Michaels. Who was rumored to be lounging at the pool. If he was, we couldn't find him.

8. Our bathroom after I tried to take a bath... and wound up flooding the room.

9. The two managers and two engineers who came up to our room when the guests below us complained of a sudden leak... and their faces when I answered the door wrapped in a towel.

10. The Husband and I as we woke up hungry, achy, and sunburned at midnight after a long afternoon nap. (This would have really sucked if TBS hadn't played The Out-of-Towners and HouseSitter back to back. Instead, it was awesome. I totally confirmed my belief that Steve Martin is one of the funniest actors ever.)

11. The two of us on Sunday morning as we stumbled sleepily from our room to valet and I asked The Husband why it felt as if we'd been there for A MONTH.

The pictures I did take?



Incredibly...



Blurry...



Ducks.



Because too much vodka.



I have no words to explain these further, except I think this is when we went in search of Bret Michaels. Apparently, the ducks were the next best thing.

Which means that, to me, Bret ranks right up there with ducks. No offense, Bret. You're cute and all, but I probably wouldn't touch you with my bare hands. Because ew.


I really like how I tried to get all creative with this one. It's too bad the angle doesn't make up for the fact that I completely forgot how to operate basic camera settings.

The desert.

Besides being incredibly hot, Phoenix was beautiful.

Effing SUCCESS. Well, almost.

Now these... these are muffins.

Last night, The Husband came home to find me standing in the kitchen, my hands braced on the counter, my head bowed as if in prayer. He kissed me hello, but could sense something was wrong. I looked him square in the eye, took a deep breath, and said, “Honey, here goes round three.”

He frowned briefly, not understanding. Then realization dawned and he began to back away nervously. His left eye started to twitch. “Muffins? AGAIN!?” he exclaimed as sweat beaded on his brow.

I nodded helplessly. “You might not want to be here for this.”

And then I fucking went to battle. These bastards muffins never stood a chance.



Let me back track a little so we’re all on the same page.

Muffin attempt #1: Doughnut Muffins. Made from a cookbook that I know nothing about except that it was purchased at Costco and then left behind by a guest in the hotel. Result: although they were tasty, the texture was all wrong and they were much too pointy.

Muffin attempt #2: AB’s muffin recipe from a Good Eats episode. Result: complete baking fail. They were greasy, sunken in. Awful. Mostly likely baker’s error. (Let's be honest.)

Because my faith in him is as strong as my love for chocolate, I used another Alton recipe for the third batch. This one out of his book. Which was very similar to the other with some minor alterations.

As soon as my timer went off and I opened the oven door, I could see a huge improvement. They weren't sunken in, nor were they pointy. They were perfect. I grabbed the pan and dashed into the den where The Husband sat worriedly awaiting the news.

“Honey! Look! Muffins!” And then I promptly did a jig.

My only complaint is that they were a bit dry due to overcooking. Totally my fault. The directions said the muffin cups should be full. I used a disher that clearly wasn't large enough and actually had some batter left over. Rather than try to distribute it evenly, I just popped ‘em in the oven and set the timer for 15 minutes. A couple minutes less and they probably would have been perfect.



Alton’s Old School Muffins

Ingredients
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
pinch of salt
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 egg + 1 egg yolk
1 cup plain yogurt
Bit and pieces (nuts, fruit, chips, etc.)

Directions
Sift together the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt). Whisk together the wet ingredients (sugar, oil, eggs, yogurt). Add the wet to the dry and mix until just combined. Do not over mix. Do not mix until smooth. Mix for a long ten count and another three for the bits and pieces. Spoon batter into prepared muffin tin (I use Baker’s Joy) and bake for 18-20 minutes at 375 degrees.



Even the texture is as it should be. (Insert grinning-like-a-fool here.)

(Printer-friendly version.)

Doughnut Muffins.

Alternate title: And the mystery continues.



These are the muffins I made before my kitchen imploded. And, although they're a bit pointy (better than the alternative, right?) and my boyfriend could point out all the reasons these wouldn't be considered real muffins, they sure tasted good.

I love muffins. Seriously. Love. It was back in '07, on our road trip through New England, that I had my very first taste of Dunkin' Donuts. Holy Mother of Sweet Pastries. Their coffee was great. Their muffins were AMAZING.

It was early morning on one of the two days we spent in Boston. We had plans to walk the Freedom Trail (which they say is only 2.5 miles, but really it's, like, 11 if you get lost somewhere around the U.S.S. Constitution like we did), but since we were totally sleep deprived still on west coast time, I told The Husband I would not leave the room without the guarantee of coffee.

So, before starting out for the day, we stopped at Dunkin' Donuts. Oh, glorious muffins. I was afraid we wouldn't find ourselves near another DD and loaded up. The Husband was stuck carrying around a box of muffins for the rest of the day.



But, turns out, they were everywhere. Much like Starbucks. And I needn't have worried that I wouldn't get my muffin fix wherever we found ourselves.

I would totally move to Boston if I didn't think I'd freeze to death in my own home during my first real winter.

Now, here's the mystery.



This is the first muffin recipe I used. J and I made these together. I wouldn't say we half-assed them, but we certainly didn't go to such extremes as I did with the others.

Last night, as I was typing up the recipe, I realized that I only used 3/4 of a TEASPOON of baking powder. The recipe calls for 3/4 of a TABLESPOON. Baking fail, right? Except these turned out TEN TIMES BETTER than when I followed every minute instruction to the letter.

What the hell gives?!



Doughnut Muffins

Ingredients
3/4 cups butter, softened, plus extra for greasing
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 cup milk

Topping
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter, melted

Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 12-cup muffin pan.

In a large bowl, beat the butter and sugar together until light and creamy. Add the eggs, a little at a time, beating well between additions.

Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg together. Add half to the creamed mixture with half of the milk. Gently fold the ingredients together before incorporating the remaining flour and milk. Spoon the mixture into the prepared muffin pan, filling each hole to about two-thirds full.

Bake for 15-20 minutes or until the muffins are lightly brown and firm to the touch.

For the topping, mix the sugar and cinnamon together. While the muffins are still warm from the oven, brush lightly with melted butter and sprinkle over the cinnamon and sugar mixture. Eat warm or cold. (Totally awesome when warm, but then again, what isn't?)

(Printer-friendly version.)

Why I chose to stay employed.

These muffins. They're the perfect example of why I need to keep my job. At least for the time being.

A few days ago I made muffins out of a cookbook. They turned out great. Then, feeling all ambitious, I decided to try my boyfriend's recipe. I wanted to learn how to make A MUFFIN. The right way. I read the book, I watched the video. I went back into my kitchen feeling confident and prepared. I was going to make THE BEST MUFFIN IN THE HISTORY OF MUFFINS.

I followed every direction to a T. I used the right ingredients, weighed everything for complete accuracy, and popped 'em in the oven. And, damn it, I couldn't wait to see and taste them. I was going to show these puppies off. I was going to take them to The Husband and say, "See! I can do this! I can bake! I can tell that damn hotel to kiss my ass and I can start my own business! Are you with me?! LET'S DO IT!" Very Ty Pennington.



And when I pulled them out of the oven, the muffins weren't the only things completely deflated. I could have cried. What went wrong?

And that was the kicker. That one question. What went wrong? I honestly couldn't say. Because I DIDN'T KNOW. I don't have the knowledge to say, oh, it's because of this... or that... or whatever. Now let's try again!

I don't know how to bake. Sure, I can pull out a recipe and make it work. Most of the time I'm successful, but at this point it feels like pure luck.



These muffins are why I want to go back to school. Not for a degree. I'm not that ambitious. (At least, I don't think.) But for a few classes that will not only teach me the fundamentals of how to do these things I love, but provide the confidence to actually turn them into a career.

In the meantime, there's a lot to be said for a steady paycheck while you're figuring out how to make your dreams come true.

Newsletter: Month Twelve*

Dear blog,

Today you turned a year old. I was fully prepared to go to sleep after a long day, a longer week, a ridiculously long and grueling year, without having written a single thing to mark the occasion, but turns out? I'm more sentimental than I care to admit. So, even though my body is heavy with fatigue and the thought of crawling into bed with my current favorite book makes me want to weep, I'm here. Because I love you.

It's been an interesting 12 months to say the least. To be fair, the first six were fairly uneventful, but I've certainly made up for that during the last six. Remember in the beginning? When we'd write about our favorite childhood movies and past road trips? Ah, the good ol' days.

The good ol' days when we looked... like this:


I know. Scary.

We've learned a lot about CSS since then, haven't we? And thanks to a particularly rude WordPress forum contributor who introduced us to Firebug, we've spent quite the hours upon hours tweaking your template until our eyes cross. It seems my preferences are always changing and I begin to wonder if I'll ever be satisfied and leave well enough alone. You've been incredibly accommodating through it all. You depth of patience astounds me.

There's been baking along the way. Oh, my. The baking. It's feeds my soul and causes my metabolism to weep. I love it... despite the fact that those jeans? The ones I haven't worn for a year because they've been TOO BIG? Yeah. Suddenly, they fit perfectly.

And there have been pictures.


Pumpkin Cookies. The fourth recipe I ever posted.


Peanut butter two-toned fudge. The thirty-first recipe I've posted.

Thank God for chocolate and self-improvement.

And, of course, there's The Husband who has spent more than his fair share as the topic of controversy conversation 'round these parts.

I wrote this in February, just as the shit began to hit the fan...

"I haven't unpacked my camera or my laptop since I came home from Utah last Tuesday. I've been wondering, do you think there is a predetermined amount of stress for each individual that will completely alter their life's path? And I'm not trying to come off as some all important philosopher, but I just can't help but wonder if one life-altering event can come rattling through like an earthquake that, when the shaking finally stops, has completely tossed you onto a different course. Not that you even know what that course may be what with all the rubble blocking your view. I suppose the only thing to do is to start picking up the pieces, rebuild and figure it out as you go along. Stumbling through the aftershocks."

Little did I know that things would quickly become much worse and now, six months later, those aftershocks still like to come rippling through occasionally.

Weeks after that, in March, I wrote this...

"But love and five years of marriage is a powerful thing. Looking at him... as worried as I was, as hurt as I had been... I knew this was the man I was still in love with. This is the life I wanted. It's been three days since he came back home and, although I realize we have a lot of freaking hard work to do, it feels good. It feels right. The awkwardness of a couple weeks ago is gone. That stranger I was living with has moved on. And I'm happy."

And little did I know that that statement would remain true as well. I am happy. The future is still a scary, uneven, watch-your-step mystery, but I am happy and ready- braced- to face what comes.

Somewhere along the way, blog, we found our voice and, with it, friends. The best part of you has been the fantastic people I've met and built relationships with. They are the loveliest of people and had I known that a world of friendship, laughter, and support awaited me, I'd have started you sooner.

Looking forward to the next twelve months.

Love,
Stephanie

*Couldn't help myself.