I have spent the last week of my life baking, and subsequently eating sweets NON stop. It started when my sister suggested that we bake cookies for a Halloween party she was going to attend for her summer babies mom's group. I love baking, so I was more than happy to lend a helping hand in making my (well, technically Martha Stewart's) well-received carrot cake-cookie sandwich cookies. I probably ate half of the dough as I was making them, so by the time they came out of the oven and were assembled with cream cheese frosting, I didn't even want to sample the finished product. I felt like shit after the sugar rush subsided, and suffered a terrible headache and feeling of nausea, and vowed that I would never eat so much sugar again. Well, we went back to the grocery store on Sunday to prepare for the impending hurricane, and by prepare I mean purchase more ingredients with which to bake (since we knew we wouldn't be able to do much else while stuck inside). We made oatmeal cookies with dark chocolate chunks at my sisters (I again, devoured half of the dough), and then I whipped up some rice krispie treat lollipops at my apartment. BIG MISTAKE.
I am OBSESSED with rice krispie treats in any capacity, which is why I never buy the prepackaged ones or even keep around ingredients to make them. I do this simply because I have no will power when it comes to resisting the buttery, mallowy goodness, and I WILL eat them all. I told myself I was going to make them (just to keep myself busy since it's a time consuming project and the weather was crappy) and store them in the freezer for 'guests' (mhmm, we all know how that goes...). I remember when I was living with one of my best friends in a college apartment in Oneonta, and I had done my best to resist bringing home candy (I'm a fucking animal, what can I say), Halloween rolled around so I bought a bag of those mini, assorted candy bars in the name of the Halloween spirit. I brought it home and told my friend that it was "for the guests," clearly, I had other ideas. It was gone within about two days, and I was the sole 'guest' consuming them. But back to my obsession with rice krispie treats. I was cat-sitting for my sister one weekend about a year ago, and my boyfriend was spending the weekend with me. I went to scoop Emma's litter box out (which is kept in a large coat-closet) when I spotted a jumbo sized box of Kellog's Rice Krispie treats. I tried to resist for about 5 minutes, before I ate one. Then I had another, and then another, and another. This was all before 12 noon, mind you. By 12 o'clock, noon, I had consumed 6 or so rice krispie treats, and felt extremely ill. Like it always goes, I told myself 'never again.'
Alas, here I am. Most of the Rice Krispie balls I tucked into the freezer just three days ago, are now coursing through my blood stream or somewhere in my digestive tract. I fucking love them. And then, during a search for careers with Martha Stewart Living (I know what some of you are thinking, but that woman is one of my idols), I saw a recipe online where you can actually dye the rice krispies orange and shape them like pumpkins around a mini candy bar (so it's a chocolately surprise when you get to the middle) and frost the top to make it look like a more authentic pumpkin. My heart fluttered and my mouth salivated as I entertained the idea for a hot second. I consider running out to buy ingredients to make these festive, seasonal treats, but then I told myself I was only lying when I said I would give them to others, and deep down I knew where all of the bounty would end up.
Upside down cooling/drying. Rice Krispie treats, hand-rolled into balls and dipped into melted white and/or milk chocolate. SO EFFING GOOD!
Seeing as how today is technically Halloween (even though it doesn't feel like it, given the fact most people threw their costume parties on Saturday, and hurricane Sandy threw the entire city into a tailspin), I thought I would like to recount some of my depressing Halloweens (my Halloweens always end up so depressing, I'm cursed). If you don't like reading about my 'woe is me' life, then stop reading now. There, I've warned you.
The first Halloween that was truly a bust was my Freshman year at FIT. I had failed to assimilate and make friends (not that I really wanted to be friends with most of cunty bitches living on my floor anyhow), but Halloween fell in the middle of the week, so I couldn't go home to celebrate. I had Tai Chi class that night and as per my apres Tai Chi ritual, I hit up the campus cafeteria. I bought myself a pint of Edy's cookie dough ice cream, and returned to my dorm where I sadly devoured the entirety of its contents alone (I could have been on an episode of Dr. Phil for my closet-binge eating ways, looking back). I'm pretty sure that happened the following year as well. So sad for a girl in the prime of her life, I know.
The first year that I transferred to Oneonta, I actually did make friends, however, for some reason, my plans for celebrating fell through, yet again. I was commuting my first year at Oneonta, so I drove home from class and in my despair, I downed an entire bottle of pink champagne to my face. I was so utterly depressed to be spending another Halloween alone. I ended up throwing up, and passing out in bed before my family came home. How, fucking shameful. I think that was the last time before I decided it is NEVER acceptable to drink alone.
The next year, is the best story of them all. I dressed up as a Victoria's secret angel, and had these awesome homemade wings:
I wore a relatively conservative costume, despite the fact I was dressed as a Victoria's secret Angel. I mean, I saw waaaaayy sluttier girls dressed as bumble bees and beer wenches, with their DD titties exploding from the sausage casings they had climbed into, thinking they were hot shit. I had on high-waisted panties for God's sake, and a short, silky robe over the entire ensemble. The night before Halloween, my best friend suggested we go to a costume party at a pub in Greene. After a few drinks, she persuaded me to take off my robe, and then when I did, some girl called me a slut, and one of my guy friends threatened to beat her up (he was defending my honor, I was still a virgin at the time). We left shortly after he threatened her, and made our way back to our home town. We went to this sketchy drug dealer's place (he happened to be "friends" with another one of our guy friends) and I ended up partaking in a white, illegal substance. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I was 21 and it hasn't happened since, so whatever. Live and learn. Besides, it's not like I spent my money on it. However, the next day I had a severely depressing come down, and spent the better half of the day moping about my apartment back in Oneonta. Making matters even more depressing, was the fact that the party that I had planned on attending that night was cancelled for some reason, and then the friend I lived with stayed in to take care of her sick boyfriend (please note, I would have done the same thing if I had a boyfriend at the time, so no hard feelings :) ). However, I was single, and ready to mingle, so I refused to stay home. My other friend wanted to go to another costume party somewhere in our hometown, but after being called a 'slut' the prior night, I wasn't about to wear my costume anywhere in the hometown vicinity. I ended up going out to the bars with a new friend from work, who abandoned me in a crowded bar to go chase down the guy she was interested in. I was left standing sad and alone, searching desperately for her amongst the crowd. When I found her, she said she felt ill and I escorted her to the bathroom where she threw up and proceeded to scribble, "____ is a douche" on the bathroom stall while I consoled her. I don't harbor any ill feelings towards her at all though, because lord only knows how many people have had to track down my drunk ass or take care of me while I cried and puked (I'm sorry everyone who has had to deal with my drunk, emo self). I had to keep taking my wings off, because they were too big to wear inside the crowded bars, and at the last bar of the night, I walked out to find them missing from the spot where I had tucked them away. I fucking built these wings out of cardboard, hot glue, sweat and love, feather by fucking feather, and some drunk asshole stole them. (I've since built another pair, but these were my favorite). I went home sad and alone that night, and cried myself to sleep.
I'm sure some of you are thinking, "boo hooo cry me a fucking river, you totally deserved it, " and perhaps I did. Lol. I just don't know how my Halloween plans always go to shit when I put so much time into these awesome costumes. Oh well. Here's to hoping someday my place is big enough to throw my own Halloween party, and I will be as next-to-naked as I want in the comfort of my own home (granted I don't consume 10 lbs of baked goods the week prior).
