Red Velvet

A very good friend of mine is celebrating her birthday today, so of course I offered to bake her a cake, cause y'all know I don't believe any milestone should be passed with out a carbohydrate in its honor. So I was thinking of all the lovely recipes I haven't made in a while, when she hits me with her personal favorite...Red Velvet.

What?!?! No one's favorite cake is red velvet, no one even really eats red velvet...and I'm from the South for Christ's sake!

The last time red velvet cake had any notoriety was as a bleedin' armadillo in Steel Magnolias, and even then it was relegated to the car port!

I mean, if you've never made a red velvet cake, and unless you were raised in Georgia I can't imagine that you have, you must understand that this cake contains ingredients barely meant for human consumption. However, it does usually come covered in cream cheese icing, thank God. Hell, I'd eat a couch if it was covered in enough cream cheese icing.

So this friend, we shall henceforth refer to as Red Velvet, is also quite the social butterfly, and has decided that for her birthday she would like to go dancing. (This is of course code for: put on low-cut top and make men want me, and I fully support that and all attention-getting activities on one's birthday;-) Of course, being the Manhattanite that she is, Red Velvet is suggesting one of those downtown clubs famous for not letting anyone in. It's quite the scene from what I've been told, naturally I have not been there, being more of a sports bar kinda gal myself. Alas, you can take the girl outta the South, but you can't take the peanut-shell-covered-floors outta the girl. Now you know these clubs are the kinda places where you've gotta hoist the twins up front and center and sausage yourself into your tightest jeans and teeter around in those stillettos that look fabulous and feel like you're walking on glass after 2 minutes. And you know all of said outfits involve the exposing of the tricep, and you know I suffer from acute upper arm edema, so it's monumentally unfair that I would have to expose my flabby flesh in the dead of winter and look like the fat married girl beside all my single friends and their stick-like appendages!!

However, seeing as how it is Red Velvet's special day, I am trying to adopt a mantra to help me cope with this and similarly trying circumstances I'm sure to encounter over the next 12 months: 2007 is not about Queenan.

That didn't sound right to you either, did it?