Yes, yes, I know. This isn't actually a muffin. It's a cupcake. But, honestly, I couldn't find a picture of the muffin variety on Google Images. And no, I couldn't upload one of my own because a) my camera's dead and b) The Brick, a.k.a. my phone, is tragically outdated. So...yeah. Deal with it. [The cupcake masquerading as a muffin, that is. And, if possible, my dearth of technology.] I have to.
Anyways, my mom comes home from Sam's Club with this horribly huge trunk full of grocery bags. Of course, you know the thing about grocery bags, and, whether you do or not, I'm going to enlighten you. Because I feel like it. And it's my friggin' blog, so that's not really anything you can do about it now is there? [This is me in Royal B*tch mode, FYI.] The thing about grocery bags is that they're way too thin to ever possibly support all the crap they're expected to contain. Like, pages of the Holy Freakin' Bible thin.
–––Y'all remember how they used to rip every time you used them? –––The old heavy things stuffed in all the box trappings on the back of the, er, pews? –––Yes, those.
So my mom struts on up the sidewalk towards the front porch, almost trips on her to the storm door, and hands me one of those Bible page-thin bags all excitedly, like she's got something real special tucked away inside and she can't wait to see my face when I open that tacky old bag and unveil the "prize". And guess what? It was a box of Red Velvet Muffins. Not cupcakes, not even cake. Muffins. For those of you who've ever scratched your heads over why I'm usually more than a mite suspicious of what my mother brings home from the store and/or fixes for supper or whatever, this is why. It's because she hands me stuff like this. Stuff I've never even heard of. And she expects me to not only eat it, but enjoy it, practically salivate over it. She's nuts.
In my opinion, the Red Velvet muffin is nothing more or less than an appurtenance to the Double Chocolate muffin. On top of that, of course, it must be said that these culinary contrivances are, for all socially ecumenical extents and purposes, like me, at least in this regard: they are too strange for words [which is saying something, when you really think about it, considering the immense bulk that is the Merriam-Webster dictionary]. I rest my case.
But enough of that. Let's move on to something less depressing and, hopefully, more interesting to you, my dutiful readers – an epic update in The "Romance" Department.
I officially have a kinda-sorta-maybe-somewhat boyfriend. Possibly. I'm still not really sure, though. We've never actually been on a date. I don't think. 'Cause to me, him coming over to see me after school [at my school], so he could meet some of my friends and get their Stamp of Approval doesn't count. Not technically. Does it? Plus, we have a couple of, er, issues we need to work out first. Namely, my mum's disapproval of him, along with the slight problem of his current lack of transportation. But if it's meant to be it'll all work itself out. I hope. Fingers crossed.
Of course, there's always the minor disruption of my own low self-esteem. Personally though, I don't see that that's gonna be much of a predicament [on his part, at least]. I mean, he thinks I'm pretty – even when I'm running around like a March Hare in nothing but my red Keeneland tee-shirt [which I got in seventh grade, and is now all faded and downright hoary, borderline antediluvian with antiquity], my favorite set of star-spangled jammy bottoms, and one of my many pairs of epic toe socks. [Or, rather, The Stri-ped Ones, as they are more commonly referred to in my case.] Don't really know what the boy sees in me, but I'm not complaining.
For now. . .
[I'm kidding. Totally kidding.]
Updated --- 3.14.2011
Updated --- 3.14.2011