My blog

Hello All,

 

I have attached a link to my blog which has several articles on it now.  I have 18 actual followers!  I am trying to get this to circulate with the ultimate goal of building content and publishing and of course entertaining folks.  My writing is a light, funny read for the most part.  I don’t do politics, drama, or routine status updates about my next doctor’s appointment or car repair.

 

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http://aprilfinallywrites.blogspot.com/

 

 

Diamond Cupcake Sprinkles

I went to a Gold Party. Now I’ve been to every home party out there - Tupperware, Mary Kay, Jewels by Park Lane, Pampered Chef (isn’t this an oxymoron?), Passions Party, Creative Memories (the implication here is that if your actual memories suck, you can create better ones) Weekender’s clothes ($75 for spandex pants? Can’t I just take my sweats to Vegas? They don’t wrinkle either.)


Okay, so a Gold Party rocks.


It’s easy for my friend Jen to lure me in, she says, “Wine and appetizers.” That’s a no brainer. Self-esteem-rattling day at work, teenager with failing report card, menstrual bloat, what better way to ebb the demons of stress and self-degradation than alcohol and finger food.


I race home from work and pillage my jewelry box over a glass of wine. I have a smattering of gold chains from which dangle bobbles that might have been fashionable in 1982. There is one earring because the other one is no doubt laying on the floorboard of an ex-boyfriend’s Camaro (aka AMC Pacer); a filigree owl with a loop to attach charms, also from the 80s. A Lapis Lazuli circle resembling a lifesaver candy framed in Chinese characters. I brutally unpair chains from pendants suddenly lusting after any yellow metal in the hopes that it might be actual gold. The irony that I may be replacing some of the stuff almost instantly is not lost on me. 


I arrive at my friend’s home with a small box of trinkets thinking that I’ll be lucky if my cache of unwanted accessories brings me enough to pay for the gas I used to drive there. I lay my humble pile out, fill out the information card and head into the kitchen to find the Cab.


Twenty minutes later the Gold Lady calls out my name. I see my chains, necklaces and rings stacked in a misshapen heap like accident victims. She has applied a little dremmel tool to most items separating stones from the precious metal. She is wearing one of those jewelers visors that resembles a mini welder’s shield and I ponder how is it she looks totally cool with that thing on her head?


We have deposited once precious pieces here, items given by lovers, beloved aunts, revered mothers, grandmothers who were our best friends. It comes down to a few squirts of acid, the weight and feel of it in her expert hands and we discover that half of our treasures are just ordinary memories and nothing more. But there are a few things that pass muster.


I approach the table and see the carcass of a pendent I surrendered. There is a pang of sorrow as I realize I have given over that memory and now it’s gone forever. There will be no sentimental grasp of its warm lustre evermore.


The Gold Lady has extracted 23 miniscule baguette diamonds from my pendant. My “precious gems” are in a plastic bag not unlike the ones used by drug dealers to parcel out their product. I have no doubt that an 1/8 of an ounce of marijuana is more valuable than the 1/8 of a teaspoon of diamond shards just handed to me. The fact that the Gold Lady even extracted and kept track of them is a miracle in my mind, since most of us would have flicked them onto the carpet like bread crumbs.


Fascinated, I fetch a full glass of red wine.


At the table, the Gold Lady who is charming and beautiful in her jewelers mask and latex gloves asks me to speculate on the value of my trove.


“$100?” I mutter, complacent, sheepish.


“$205” She says brightly.


Really? Suddenly she is snapping my photograph and handing me two crisp Ben Franklins. I resist the immediate urge to hold them up to the light and see if they are real. They are accompanied by a worn out five dollar bill (thank you Abe.)


I am almost ashamed. Every “home party” I’ve ever attended usually resulted in the emptying of my wallet - NEVER the other way around. I start to churn. What if I had a party selling doo dads or gadgets preceded by the GOLD PARTY? Imagine liquidating the crap your college boyfriend gave you and getting $500 to spend on new jewelry or a state of the art spatula? Paired with the precise over-pouring of Cabernet, I could make out like a bandit.


What a hot idea… Income stream coupled with an immediate shopping outlet. That’s a chick’s dream, right?


Well, actually after I pocketed my $205, I had another idea. I was holding the mini-Ziploc bag up to the light noting that even tiny diamonds sparkle.


What in the name of Todd (more on taking Todd’s name in vain later) am I supposed to do with these?


And then it hits me. My 45th birthday is coming up.


The Ultimate Cupcake Sprinkles!


I am enchanted. Dark chocolate cupcake, a silver cupcake paper, its accordion spines shimmering in the July sun, pale pink butter cream frosting and…


23 Diamond Sprinkles…


You know that disgusting peppermint Schnapps, with the gold flake in it? I’ve been drunk on that, pretty sure I vomited up a Krugerrand. But Diamond Cupcake Sprinkles! Suddenly I am seized with excitement, my plan seems flawless. I am committed to the idea that I will adorn my 45th birthday cake with actual diamonds.


As soon as I spew my exciting idea, I look at the Gold Lady. She immediately perceives the inherent danger. Diamonds are the hardest substance on earth. 23 tiny rocks have to make it through my nether-regions and suddenly the concept of a perforated bowel and scraped intestines blooms. Gold Lady agrees – this is a VERY BADY IDEA.


Dammit..

Now I have to Google it, or BING (does this really stand for Because It’s Not Google)? Do I have to seek the opinion of a medical professional before ingesting what amounts to $40 worth of diamonds? What about the dirt and rocks happily consumed by children? Aren’t we biologically predisposed to take in at least of 10% of our body weight in things that are questionably digestible such as orange colored petroleum food products like Velveeta?


And what of all the health stuff out there? Ever tried “colon hydrotherapy”? Yes, may I please pay $70 for a turbo-enema? How about magnetic insoles, hemp lotion (all the moisture, none of the high), charcoal supplements, blue algae, acai berries, ohm, Namaste, ob la di, ob la da…


So how can a mouse turd’s worth of baguette diamonds possibly pose a threat as cupcake embellishments?


I beg for an answer…


Game on.