Monday, June 25, 2012


Lots and lots of  cakes, and on top of all that, my buddies from Cali crashed in NY for two nights when they got bumped off their flight to Spain.

I haven't seen this group in many years. I've hung out with their sister a few times whenever she comes into the city, but I have not seen this bunch since I was still with my husband. Their little boy, whom I remember at the age of 6, just graduated high school and is now an 18 year old. He drives a BMW.

It took a little bit of work to move my schedule around. I had cake orders every single day this week, and two on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Still, I made sure they had something to eat, got into Manhattan okay, found their hotel, and had everything they needed to be comfortable.

Technically, last Friday was supposed to be my day off, but because I've been late every single day this month, I had to come in to make up some hours. I also had to make a cake that night when I got home at 2am. I did it. I went to work. I snuck out of work. Met up with them again and took them all over town. I had to keep the entertainment PG-13 because of the kids, but overall it was a fun time.

At the end of the trip their 18 year old was practically hanging off me, and their 5 year old little girl was my new best friend. I always worry that I don't have the right temperature for little kids. I mean, I'm not over-the-top playful and I tend to speak to them as if they are mature adults rather than little humans with a whole lot of life left to learn. But, given enough time, they warm up to me so well that their parents are pretty much prying them off me. I guess, I'm still a functioning female afterall with that procreation gene firmly intact!  Who knew?

By the time I was dropping them off at JFK Saturday morning, they were begging me again to come with them to Spain, and then the Canary Islands. They insisted the ticket was covered (through family connections) and the timeshare was secure, except for Spain, where they have property already. All I would need to pay for is my own food and entertainment.

I did consider it. Day job be damned, I kept telling myself! I have my passport. I have a small bag. I have it all. Why don't I just go. Fuck this place!

But, that would mean fucking over the one-year-old's Abby Caddabby cake for Saturday afternoon, and my friend's birthday cupcakes for Saturday night, the 60th wedding anniversary cupcake tower on Sunday morning, and the Hunger Games mini banana bread for my friend's other bookclub meeting for Sunday night. It's not the money I would be losing out on. It's the people I would let down, and the fact that I would be ruining my reputation by fucking them over for my own selfishness.

I couldn't do it. I WANTED to do it, but I don't think I could really live with myself if I did that to someone, let alone all these people who expected me to come through.

It made me rethink a lot of things. Why haven't I opened up my own place here in NY? It's not about the money or the responsibility. I have many investors willing to front me the cash. It's the tether. It would be the embodiment of a physical ball and chain tied to my ankle, keeping me trapped here for God-knows how long!

My friends hounded me again about moving out West, with them. They promised free living. They promised help with my business and introducing me to the right connections in order to get it off the ground FAST and successfully. They also insisted I meet a handful of men they know who are all financially capable of "taking care" of me.

I don't want to be taken cared of. I'm capable, dammit.

I had to read the whole Fifty Shades trilogy this past week to get ready for my book club meeting next week. Even with the promise about a book with kinky fuckery, this series was God-awful. Bad writing. Bad characters. Clichéd scenarios and situations. (What do you expect from a book based on Twilight fan fiction?)

I was always really proud of my last long-term relationship when it came to our bed-play. (We may have been an awful couple and terrible friends, but we were great fuckers.) Without crossing the line into a fetish lifestyle, we were both sexually charged beings with kinks that toed the fringe of dangerous and rough. The things we said to each other, the looks we shared, the knowing-smiles that touched our lips while out in public which hinted at being in on a secret that the rest of the sheeple population would never understand; it made me feel like we shared this special, unique bond that all the porn in the world couldn't trump.

Well, Fifty Shades just took my little sexual trophy from that relationship and knocked it off its pedestal. Not only did I recognize annoying traits in the lead woman that I often exhibited, myself, but the entire way their kinky fuckery went down pushed my special sexual bond with my ex into that glaring shelf in the library called "Clichéd Lust". Fifty Shades of Grey along with its two subsequent follow-ups was written by a woman with a 13 year-old's talent for writing fantasy- what she thinks sex and love should be. An interesting idea; but poorly executed and annoyingly simple......Just like my kinky-fuckery-relationship. How could I have been so disillusioned to think I had something special with someone, when all along it was just another fuck-fest with me as the co-star instead of some other chick? It's like the kid's roles in the Griswald Family movies- every movie has a new set of actors playing the kids, but that's okay because no one is watching to really see the kids anyway. It's the franchise- the genre.

After putting down the last book of this trilogy, I had to sit down and really reassess what I'm working with here. I don't want to be another dumb cliché of what I think  I want to be. I thought I was some awesome sexual goddess in the bedroom because of the extremes that I enjoyed and my ability to find suitable bed partners to enjoy them with. But, really, if some idiot in Europe can write a book like Fifty Shades and have millions and millions of stupid housewives mewling over this trite garbage, then I suppose I'm not such a sexual goddess afterall.

The realization was staggeringly disappointing. I feel like my favorite superhero just took off his mask and shattered the illusion of grandeur I had of him. I feel like someone walked over to my jewelry box, picked up my most prized gemstone and smashed it in front of me to prove it was only glass and not some rare, precious jewel that I always thought it was.

It made me question everything I thought about myself and my life. It made me wonder if I really want to do this cake thing forever. And if I do, how am I going to go see the world like I've always wanted? I could be writing this post from the mother fucking Canary Islands right now, for fuck's sake! I could be in a bathing suit, sipping a tropical juice, and looking out over the water from my balcony. Well, it would be a whole other post, then, wouldn't it?

I think I've been planning my goals using a clichéd idea of what life should be as a measuring stick.

I don't do clichés very well. it all starts off well enough, until the role gets boring and I need to break out into something a-typical.

I was a typical domineering wife while I was married to that loser.
I was a typical "timid" housewife-like female when I was with Joel in order to make him feel like he wore the man-pants in our partnership.
I was a typical trainwreck in the relationship after Joel, because it felt like that's the light I was pictured in to the people involved in that catastrophe.

When do I stop being what people want me to be, and just be me? But, then again, what the fuck is "me" exactly? A little bit of all those things, right? Dominant, persistent control freak with a soft creamy center of submissive "take care of me" female wiles on the inside, covered by a lusty candy shell of sexual deviant. All packaged in a shiny wrapper of a lost survivor struggling to succeed.

Is that an accurate description of what you get if you pick me up off the shelf and stash me in your pocket?

I loved seeing my friends again. They had a great time with me. I'm proud that I carried through with my commitments and didn't bail on my customers all for a free vacation on the other side of the world. But, after it's all said and done- I'm unhappy and I can't point to one thing right now that I can change in order to make myself happy. Which means, all the goals and the "I want to..." is probably not going to make me happy, either.

Someone once told me that if I don't know what I'm looking for, go exploring because sometimes you end up stumbling on something you never knew you'd ever want.

I think I need to go exploring.

Sunday, June 17, 2012


I don't know if my title is completely aprapro to what I'm referring to, but whatever. I'll change it later if I have to.

I was surfing the net this evening and came across some blogs making fun of this bride, who sang down the aisle for her own wedding. One article called it "The Worst Wedding Ever".

I watched it. I didn't think it was that bad. I mean, she has a great voice. She's pretty. I know the song. I get it. She doesn't have a father to walk her down the aisle, and this song fits perfectly in her magical little romance story. Cool. I didn't think it was the worst wedding ever. I mean, I am the kind of girl who gets teary-eyed at ANY wedding, but don't most people?

I watched it again, trying to find out why so many people thought it sucked. Here's what I came up with.

Well, for one thing, her husband didn't look all that surprised to see his woman come out with a mic instead of a bouquet. No one in the church looked surprised. No one stood up. No one was snapping pics. No one looked impressed or happy she was doing such an awesome job....on her own bridal her own wedding. Then, there was that choreographed paced walk by her hubby towards her so they could meet in the middle and the whole 10 people watching could get a nice view of her serenade to their upcoming nuptials.

After the 2nd viewing, I figured it all out.

Well, for one thing, I'm sure she's a pro. Her voice is amazing, she has the cameras set up to catch her at every angle, and then there's that silly march down the aisle her fiance does to meet her in the middle, and the rehearsed hand-holding. Any sense of surprise or spontaneity is thrown out the window because I'm assuming people were expecting this to happen.

This is a sad, lovey-dovy song for Christ's sake! There should be tissues out and tears messing up make-up. Nothing. This is also a young, good-looking couple. Statistics say that people like this are supposed to have an entourage of equally young, good-looking friends. Where's the posse at? And another thing. It's her wedding! Why does she look so hard when they throw open those doors? no softness or tears or excitement. It was too.....cold. Again, it felt rehearsed.

Well, it all comes back to her being a pro, I think. I mean, think about all the awesome singers that get married. Maybe some of them performed some personalized song to their new life-partner, but not while they're walking down the aisle. That's usually reserved for a special spotlight moment during the reception. And I've been to weddings where a live singer replaced the "Here Comes the Bride" jingle, but I've not been to one where the groom or bride did it themselves.

I suppose it would be the equivalent of someone like me making my own wedding cake or birthday cake. Not only would it be the epitome of narcissism and blatant self-promotion, but what does it say about me to take on such a monster task the day I have to prepare for my own special moment- whatever that may be?

How do people feel about this sort of thing? I know artsy couples who do their own photography or their own artwork. Architects who build their own homes are often praised instead of ridiculed when it comes to their trade.

Someone had said that the spotlight is already on the bride the entire wedding. How much more accolades does she need to feel special? It reminds me of this chick that I know who made her parents rent out some ridiculous Sweet 16 space for a party they could ill-afford. It was very expensive. It couldn't accommodate all her guests. And it didn't have much of a dance floor. However, this girl was so determined to utilize the venue's Rome & Juliet style balcony and the catwalk and sweeping staircase in order to make her grand entrance with a bedazzled mic as she sang some song she had been practicing for months for this special moment. It's not that a girl shouldn't feel awesome on her special day, but that's just it. the say is special. the party is special. the custom-made dress, the food, the fancy invites- it was all special. Did the need of a gaudy grand entrance really worth the extra expense for the tiny space and her drama queen debut? I guess it was since her mom pretty much sold off jewelry and begged relations for spare change in order to pay for it all. Someone has described the whole fiasco as self-serving.

I'm not going to lie. I feel great when my pastries take the spotlight at someone's big day. I feel good. I feel special. And I feel like my efforts became a permanent part of a day that will exist forever in their memories. As time goes on, though, my eye has gotten better and I spot my imperfections more keenly than I used to. My stuff isn't magazine-worthy. They aren't flawless or perfect yet. And it makes me cringe and want to disappear into the ground. Suddenly, I don't feel so great standing in that fucking spotlight.

It's just strange, isn't it? No one demeans a bride who makes her own dress if she is a designer. Although, I've seen some homemade wedding ensembles and they were REALLLLLLY not pleasing to the eye. This wasn't the case, though, with this bride. Her voice kicked ass.

I guess, from my best summation, due to the lack of emotion, the lack of guests, and obvious uber-planning; maybe they don't have that many friends. Maybe she's a professional singer with a sensational voice but a shitty personality? I know, personally, if I wanted to gift my husband-to-be with an amazing song, I probably would have planned it a as a surprise and I wouldn't have picked the church as the place to do it. Then again, that's just me.

Lesson learned: I will NOT be making my own cake for my wedding or birthday.

Friday, June 15, 2012

With a Fizzle

Sometime within the last few days, my little business blog crept up over 30,000 views.

I wish I had noticed so I could give it proper pomp and ceremony, but I have been so busy the last few weeks, it slipped right by me.

So, please join me in celebrating 's 30,389th view as of right now!!!!

WOOHOO!!! You go on with your bad self, little blog! =)

Monday, June 11, 2012

The Correlation Between Insomnia & Anxiety

Well, this article explains a whole lot, doesn't it? Just from my own observations as a malfunctioning sleeper, I can say anxiety levels do go all haywire when my brain is missing large amounts of REM sleep. Besides the general debilitation of my cognitive functions when I can't get any shut-eye, I'm an emotional wreck- nervous, jittery, paranoid, and certainly anxious. Glad to see that it wasn't all in my head.

Link to the article I'm talking about here.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Out of Line

Who wants to stay in line anyway?

So, at the day job, we had one of those important meetings with important people sitting in on it. As we wrapped up the reports, that back-stabbing , ass-kissing, brown-nosing Office Cunt let it slip out how she was poaching on the work my company is contracted for. Everyone sat around in silence as this girl nervous-giggled her way through some "suggestions" she had. Everyone sat there like this bitch just invented sliced bread, but I couldn't take it anymore.

Knowing full well that this shit may very well put that last nail in my coffin here, I went off on a snarky tantrum. I've already got the wheels in motion for something new so I'm not TOO scared about it. Worried? Yeah. Completely shitting my pants, but a little excited because it's that kick off the edge that I need to jump this sinking ship.

Anyway, I spoke up. I blasted this girl for not giving the full story on what was going on with the accounts (confidential stuff I'm not allowed to disclose to the general public, but also really boring shit you wouldn't be interested in anyway). I went on to say that if she was going to sit there and attack the work of another contractor, which I think is pretty shady considering she works for a competing contacting firm, then she needs to take a step back. I made it really clear that I didn't appreciate the clandestine meetings these people have been having, and no one was fooled by her fake smiles and bullshit facade.

Too far?

No one said anything for a long time. The look on my face wasn't professional. There was nothing but pure disgust written there towards everyone in the room.

Ok, 33 year-old Katherine can't go around cursing out annoying co-workers and glaring down her superiors. I'm just so tired of this fucking hamster wheel. Do I have a trade that I can make money off of? Yeah, I do, but I'm not really THERE yet and I need this piece of shit job to cover the expenses.

All I know is, right now, right at this very moment I fucking hate everything and everyone. Corporate America is composed of the mindless zombies who do the grunt work, lecherous middle management brown-nosers who will shoot you in the leg and feed you to the zombies in order to get ahead themselves, and the sacred 1% sitting on top of it all reaping the benefits of the work done by the sheep below. I fucking HATE it.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Enough is Never Enough

So, I know I haven't written in about a week, but I just needed time to rest and collect my thoughts. I did survive my cake-making marathon, and they all came out pretty good. There were a few that I felt could have been better if I had a little more talent and a little more time, but overall I'm really proud of myself.

Delivery two cakes uptown last weekend, I employed my ex; Joel. It was a long-ass ride, with him opting to drive through Manhattan from the 59th St bridge ALL the way to 190th St, uptown. Despite me telling him to use the West Side Highway or the Henry Hudson Parkway, he insisted on going slow and steady through town and my blood was boiling.

I couldn't blow up at him because he showed up at 3pm, even though I told him 4pm, the day before, and he waited on me till 6:30- the time I was ready with the cakes. He was about to leave when I came running out with the first box.

I know he wanted to lecture me on my poor time management. Nothing gives this man greater pleasure than telling me what's wrong with with me. It was a trait I hated when we were together, and I didn't warm up to it now that we're apart. As much as I wanted to blow up and tell him what he could do with this antiquated opinions, I needed his help for this delivery and I had to keep my mouth shut until the cakes were handed off safe and sound.

"You know what your problem is..." he began with his usual, heavy accented drawl; a smile on his face because he was going to savor the lecture I was forced to listen to because he knew I didn't have any other choice.
"No, but I bet you're gonna tell me, aren't you?" I rolled my eyes, bracing myself against whatever bullshit opinion he was about to unload......again.
"You think you know everything. You think you got all the answers. You think you're all alone in everything, but the fact of the matter is you need people to help you because you're not good enough yet. And it eats you up inside like acid because you know this and you can't admit it." He paused to look for a reaction. When I kept quiet, and blankly stared out the window, he kept going. "I mean, that artist you used to fuck...did any of the talent come out of his dick and into you? You got a little better, but you've got a ways to go if you think you're ever gonna be as good as a real bakery. Just because a few people like your cakes don't make them good enough to be in magazines. Are you even filtering the cakes you put up on your website or you just asking your computer guy to throw up any old picture?"
"I don't have a computer guy; I do it all myself."
"Oh, that's surprising. You never even wanted a website unless someone else made it for you. Wasn't that what you were going to pay Bobby to do for you?" He asked, referring to his son.
"It's not because I wasn't capable of learning how to do it. I was trying to give him a paying gig, to save myself some time and to help him out. It's not my fault your son had better things to do with his time. And I think I did ok with what little I know about it, and I only had a couple of people help me out. You're trying to make me feel useless, and I'm not gonna let you sit there and call me that."
"You said it, not me."

There was a stretch of silence. He had a smug look on his face, and I was clenching my fists, trying not to sock him in the face while we drove. It took every ounce of strength and patience I had inside me not to beat him over the head with the Club.

"You think you're better than everyone." He continued once he was over the bridge. "You think you deserve more because you think you work harder. Yeah, you can work pretty hard, but you wouldn't be where you are today if I didn't put you there."
"Yes, yes, yes," I blurted out, having heard this shit a million times already. "The next tattoo I get will be a testament to ALL the help you've given me, Joel. Don't worry, you'll get your fucking credit."
"Did you get rid of my tattoo yet?" He asked, leering at me. I didn't answer him. "Tell me. Is it still there? Is it? Tell me. Why won't you answer?" I hated this because I knew what was coming.

When I still didn't respond, he reached over, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my pants, and tried tugging them down to get a look at my ink. Without hesitation, I smacked him hard across the face. He pulled back, looking stunned and furious.

"How would your girlfriend like to know how touchy you get whenever you're around me?"

I saw the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the wheel. After a few minutes, he mumbled out an apology.

"You're not someone who hates being touched," he added in his defense, pretty much negating his shoddy apology. "I saw your pictures all over facebook with your white boy. He seemed pretty touchy and I didn't see any pictures of you smacking him across the face. Still the violent type, eh? Maybe you should get back with your husband so you can both go at it again cuz that's what you like."
"I choose who gets to touch me, not you." I shouted at him. "Your right to lay a finger on me is long gone. If you want to touch someone, go home to your leather-skinned, saggy-tit girlfriend. You've been with her just as long as you were ever with me, so I guess you found a suitable replacement. Just because I don't have a boyfriend right now doesn't give you a right to touch me. I don't give a shit how much you think you've done for me. I'm not paying you with sex."

The rest of the ride was silent. I delivered, and was tempted to take the train home, but there was no train nearby. No trains and no cabs. On the way back, he tried to pretend nothing happened.

"Do you know why you and me didn't work, boo?" I didn't answer him. "None of it was good enough. I gave you everything you wanted, and more. You asked for a ring, I bought you the biggest one in the store, and you didn't want it. You asked for a car, and I made sure we had 3 ready to go. You asked for a home and I made sure you always had one- bigger than any other place you've ever lived. You were never happy. You wanted to start your own business, and I flooded you with customers. You were never happy. None of it made you happy. Ever. It's never enough for you. You can't just stay content."
"No, I can't. I can't stay at the same level and be happy there. I'm always going to want the next thing; a new goal. I'm not going to apologize for that."
"I would'v eventually given you what you really wanted- new car, new house, Hawaii....I just needed time, and you wouldn't let up on me."
"It was never going to happen with you, Joel."
"Why not?"
"Because you're happy being mediocre and I'm not. 
You're fine filling up your tank halfway, and I'm always going to want it completely filled up. I'm always going to want to strive for something harder to get than the last thing I just got, and you're fine fixing something that's broken."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing...for you."
"That's your problem. Enough is never enough."
"Why the hell would I settle for just enough when I know I can get what I really want if I work harder?"
"Because you don't know what you really want. So, no matter how hard you work, you're never gonna get it. It's always changing, so you'll never stop working. And you'll never be happy."

I didn't respond.

"You're right," he said,  pulling up in front of my house. "Our time really is over."
"Yeah. Here's your money. Thanks."

(I had maybe three or four extra paragraphs after this point, but it either didn't get saved or Blogger ate it. I'll try and recall everything to the best of my ability, but it's like 24 hrs later, so who knows?)

Does he have a point? Does my inability to settle on any ONE goal kill any hope for happiness dead in its tracks? Maybe. Was he entirely wrong about what happened to us? When we first got together, I was saddled with a moocher husband who lived off all the money I made and spent all the credit under my name all willy-nilly without a single thought to our financial futures or goal. He had no goals. My ex-husband lived in the now and NOW meant he bought whatever my high credit limits could afford.

Joel was a breath of fresh air with his work ethic and his staunch ability to achieve his goals. The only problem I had was that his bar wasn't set as high as mine. Did he get me a car, like he said he would? Sure. But, it was second or third hand, and it was in his name. He made it functional for me and he made it easy enough for me to use when I needed it, but it wasn't really mine outright. He secured us a home. Okay, again it was in his name only, and I had to agree to leave Astoria and move out to Woodhaven; a neighborhood that wasn't exactly the Mecca I was coming from. Vacations? Sure, he delivered on that, too. Only, we worked gigs while we were "on" vacation, so a week's worth of R & R really only turned out to be 2 days.

If I pushed for the "better", with a solid fight, I know I would get him to agree with me. But, he is not a man of material values. Why buy a home when he  was perfectly fine renting. Why buy a new car when used ones can be restored "like-new"? Why goto Hawaii if Florida was just as hot and had some ocean around it, at a fraction of the cost?  Joel would have been content opening a deli and making cash hand over hand. I didn't want a deli. I wanted......more.

This is what he meant. I'm not a greedy person. I made him return a 10 thousand dollar engagement ring because spending that much cash on a rock is impractical for someone like me. I was flattered he thought I was worth it, but at the end of the day, he put the 8 grand back in his account for a rainy day. I never demanded expensive dinners or crazy thousand dollar handbags because that just isn't my style. Not that I wouldn't have appreciated it, but the man worked hard and to blow it on frivolous stuff like that doesn't make me happy.

When he says he tried to make me happy; he was telling the truth. He did. Fancy dinners. Fancy luxury gifts. Fancy jewelry. The only problem with that is that I'm not a fancy girl.

His assessment struck a raw nerve. He tried, but the truth of the matter is that even if he provided everything I asked him for to the letter, the fact that we had glaring discrepancies within our life-plans would have lead to a downfall somewhere down the line. I was willing to give up so much of what I wanted to make my square peg fit into the round hole he cut out for me, but I'm not the type to sit back and endure it as a martyr.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't have all the answers regarding what I really want. Maybe I don't know for sure where I want to end up and what I want to be doing once I get there. But, I know I'll work hard until I do, and I'm never going to let someone take away my right to decide for myself what's right for me.

No one is going to touch me if I don't want to be touched. No one is going to belittle me as a person or as a baker. No one is going to gut me the way I have let all these men cut away at my self-worth and value all these years.

Maybe I'll never have the huge social circle of semi-celebrities my ex husband had, or the strength and street-hustle Joey has, or even an ounce of the artistic ability the last one had. But, for whatever reason, I'm uniquely me, and I'm not going to apologize for not settling on a life that wasn't right for me. I shouldn't feel bad leaving a man who used and abused me, a man who kept me in a gilded cage and only let me out under his supervision, or a man who felt the compelled to lie to me to keep me "happy". Shaky foundation never support strong structures. Believe me, I've had enough cakes collapse on me to know that golden rule- a weak base and un-level layers will bring down a cake faster than an earthquake.

I was feeling badly that I've been dating the last couple of years and haven't found anyone up to par. But, that's one less break-up I'll have to go through, one less dinner for me to walk out of, and one less family I'll have to meet and try to impress. Forcing something that isn't a good fit hasn't been fruitful in the past, and it isn't going to be any better for me now.

I have the freedom to go where I want in this life without the burden of a partner or kids to shape the decisions I make for myself. While I do sometimes feel envious of my friends' new families and chapters, I feel okay knowing it isn't right for me at this point, and maybe someday it will or it won't, but that's ok, too.

No, enough is never enough, but I like it that way.