Here is the behind-the-scenes super secret footage of how a bunch of stuff becomes a tiny little cake. And happy birthday to my favorite person in the entire solar system.
Step 1: Find a recipe for cupcakes that is in a skill level near the neighborhood of your own skill level. One that deviates from the standard vanilla/chocolate blah blah blah. Something that seems like an adult-ish person who can work a spoon should be able to accomplish without getting batter on the ceiling, blood in the frosting.
Step 2: Select dinosaur cupcake cups. According to the Netflix archives, the recipient is like the HUGEST fan of dinosaurs.
Step 3: See the instructions. Read them. Seem to comprehend them. Then fuck up the order of ingredients, forget to sift, and treat vanilla extract like it is optional. Wonder if it is too late to repeat second grade. Imagine towering over a sea of pigtails in the Christmas program. Wonder if owning a 10-year-old two-door Honda Civic would increase invitations to skating parties.
Step 4: Pensively lick raw egg, sugar, flour mixture off beaters. Decide that the fetal position and/or geyser-style barfing and/or pasty blue skin exposed to rookie EMTs totally worth it for the sweet sweet taste of raw eggs, sugar, and flour mixture. The lack of vanilla is palpable.
Step 5: Decide to start over with another batch -- this time including the vanilla. But follow through with the vanilla-less batch, because you aren't a quitter! (These can go in the freezer for times when the desire for cake is so crippling that it doesn't even matter if the cake is good. It just needs to shuttle the frosting directly to the place where diabetes is made).
Step 6: Pandora queues up "It's a Shame About Ray," which spins you back to 1992 for a solid three minutes. Whatta song, from more than half a life ago.
Step 7: Butter creams are mixed, and tinted green; Chocolate is melted (mostly, save for about four unappetizing chunks) and morphs a frosting.It is spooned into a plastic baggy to ape an actual baker using an actual piping bag. This is about the third most hilarious way to frost something.
Step 8: Varsity squad cupcakes are assembled, with decreasing dedication to the aesthetic. The B-squad cupcakes get the leftover frosting and undivided attention from my broken impulse control-ometer.
Step 9: There is no left over interest in cleaning up dishes. And nothing says Happy Birthday, Chuckers! like a sink full of frosting smears.