I Officially Have Big Girl Pants

When I was a teenager I was convinced that if I learned certain skills that could be referred to as "women's work," that I would be setting the women's lib movement back by decades.  I avoided learning basic things like sewing and cooking because somehow keeping my skill set low would help propel women into positions of great power.  Hilary Clinton, you're welcome.

This worked out really well for quite a long time.  While I wasn't completely inept at all things involving heat, my cooking abilities were limited to cheese quesadillas, scrambled eggs, and ramen.  I had baked in high school but avoided cooking anything besides tasty sweets because

I AM NOT A HYPOCRITE!

Ahem.  So then I went to grad school.  I was on my own living in a big city with no money to eat out and no one to cook for me, excluding friends who took pity on a hapless Canadian-American with no practical skills (thank you!).  I don't know if it was hunger, dating a chef, or years of critical thinking in college, but I finally realized that avoiding learning how to cook was doing nothing but making me hungry and excluding me from an entire world of creative expression.  I decided to deal with reality and learn how to cook.  

Let me be frank by saying that I fucking hated it.  I had no idea what I was doing.  Meat terrified me, I had no idea what 'sauté' really meant, and the only thing I could consistently make was rice.  Let's just say it was a bland year and I cooked for no one.  

After finishing my coursework I moved back to the states to be with the guy I laser gunned in the face.  We moved in together, which meant that I couldn't get away with cooking atrocities just for myself.  I was going to have to share it with someone I cared about, meaning it had to be better than it-won't-poison-you standards.  This was easier said than done.  Living with someone who had cooked for upwards of 20 years meant that when I cooked, it was either leave me the hell alone or let's get into a fight.  My hatred of cooking continued.

I believe that one sign of a good partner is that they will push you to pursue things you've shown interest in even when you want to throw in the towel.  Laser gun man did just that.  He was and continues to be blown away by my baking, but it took years to get what I got the other night.  For the first time I made a real meal.  I've made pastas and casseroles and soups and other tasty things before that showed my progression as a cook, but the other night I made a simple yet perfectly executed meal. There were baked potatoes that were rubbed in oil, sea salt, and pepper and then baked in the oven, not the microwave.  I made roasted vegetables with rosemary and thyme.  To top it off I baked chicken coated in garlic, rosemary, and thyme.  See the theme here?  

Everything came out at the same time and was cooked perfectly.  The potatoes had a crispy skin, but were soft on the inside.  The chicken was savoury and moist.  The vegetables were cooked but not soggy with mushrooms that had absorbed all the herby goodness.  For the first time, I had successfully made a proper meal and my chef man said he was impressed.  After hearing that I can say that I have officially put on my big girl pants.

How I Accidentally Ate a Cock Ring and Almost Killed My Friend

It's been a long time for your Nasty Baker.  Life got the best of me and my interest in cooking, not baking, took over (expect the blog's theme to change...slightly).  I've thought about whether or not to get rid of this blog or to try and bring it back with a bang.  I chose the latter.  While I can't promise weekly updates, complex recipes, or even consistent nastiness, I will be blogging once again.  With that, I present to you the story of how I accidentally ate a cock ring and nearly put my friend in the hospital.

My dear friend Betty Page (seen on the left, in front of the drunkard) was getting married and a bachelorette party was in order.  Drinks, presents, more drinks, a hotel suite, and some male genitalia were all a part of the plan.  I had already gotten her the traditional sex toy presents, but wanted to do something more.  I decided to make a game with this and these.

I had it all planned out.  I was going to make a penis cake filled with white buttercream that would 'ejaculate' onto the counter of the hotel suite kitchenette.  There would be a cock ring inside and whoever got the cock ring in their piece would win some lube and a bullet vibrator.  Fun for all, right?

I chose a fairly easy batter recipe for the cake and went with a Bailey's Buttercream for the filling and "frosting."  Before putting the cake in the oven, I looked into the melting temperature of silicone.  Everything I read lead me to believe that I could easily and safely bake the cock ring in the cake.

The cake finished baking at about 10pm.  It inverted perfectly and I set to work hulling my penis cake, munching along the way.  About half way through I remembered that I'd put the cock ring in the left ball.  Realizing that I'd carved away most of that, I panicked.  I hadn't come across it and as I poked through the whole testicle, there was nothing to be found.  Not only that, but I had eaten the pieces I'd cut out.

Oh god, I just ate a melted cock ring.

Still freaking out, I checked to see if there are any health concerns one might have for accidentally digesting what is supposed to be silicone.  If it was silicone, which it wasn't, then I would be fine.  Since I didn't actually know what the cock ring was made of, I opted to hop aboard the denial train and pretend nothing bad could happen to me.  So far I've been fine, but I fully anticipate archeologists to unearth my remains one day only to find a complex puzzle that could only be answered by combining alcohol, a cock ring, and too many skittles.

At this point it was almost 11pm and the party started the next day.  I had to get to the hotel beforehand in order to set up the ejaculation scene, so to say that I was rushed would be an understatement.  I hopped in my car and ran to Kroger where I begrudgingly bought two boxes of Duncan Fucking Hines Devil's Food Cake Mix.  For those of you who know me, you know that I never ever buy pre-mix boxed cakes or brownies or anything.  I make it all from scratch every time.  Buying those red boxes was a hard thing to do especially when it was for my friend's bachelorette party.

I ran home and made the cake again, this time sans cock ring.  It thankfully inverted perfectly and I carved away.  I whipped up the Bailey's Buttercream and inserted the cock ring into the filling (always buy a set ladies).  Why I didn't do this the first time is beyond me.  The cake was ready for its setup.

The next morning I skipped out on the breakfast festivities for the party in order to get the cake ready at the hotel and I must say it looked ridiculously spectacular.  Our camera was lost that night so at this point I have no pictures to show how violent the penis cake was ejaculating.  It was all over the counter and was dripping on its cake-y head with such force that it looked like there was a cum fire.  It was art god damn it, art with a cock ring.  Despite what had happened it was perfect.  I then set off to meet the girls for lunch and to begin our drunken escapades (let's go!).

Despite the chilly spring air and some light rain, we had a blast.  We had so much fun in fact that I didn't pay attention to Betty Grable here telling bartenders not to give her bourbon because of a severe allergy.  Over and over she refused whiskey, scotch, etc. because it bring on a severe asthmatic episode and she would have to be rushed to the hospital.

durrrrrrr

We headed back to the hotel with hot pizzas in tow and a hot stripper en route, the cock cake waiting.  It went great.  She and everyone else LOVED the cake.  We ploughed through the pizzas and started in on the cake.  Guess who got the cock ring?  None other than my asthmatic friend.  We all started eating and chatting and laughing.  Everyone remarked on the tasty buttercream and than Ms. Grable goes,

"This is so good, what is in this?"

"Homemade buttercream with Bailey's,"  I say proudly.

"Bailey's?"

"Yeah, Bailey's."

"You know I'm allergic to bourbon, right?"

uhhhhhh

Ms. Grable went to bed shortly after that and I left with my head hung low.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't avoid her for a few weeks after that.  I was mortified.  Thankfully nothing happened to her.  There was so little Bailey's in the buttercream that she had no reaction.  She also hasn't held it against me at all, making her one classy broad.

There it is.  The story of how I accidentally ate a cock ring and could have easily put my friend in the hospital.  Now what lessons have you learned from this?