black eyes and butch...

uncle sugar and i were chatting last night about the sort of restaurant he'd love to open. one seating a night with the menu based on his groceries and garden yield every morning.

i love it when solid people have sky-scraper dreams.

for two days in a row, i've seen littles head out of school, take one look at the never-ending line of buses, and burst into tears. a sweet blondie all in red plopped down near me yesterday while we waited for lill. her cheeks matched her outfit and she was breathing so damn hard, trying to keep it together even though she knew she'd already lost it.

let me help you, i said.

no. no. no. no. she was full-on panic. i'm done. i'm done. i'm done. i'm done.

exactly. i mean, how many times have you found yourself somewhere you did not want to be, forced to do something you do not want to do.

but there you are.

so anyway. pat was telling me about all these women at work with black eyes. what is the deal? he asked me. have you ever seen more than one person with a black eye? because yesterday, i saw three! and they were all old ladies!

i suggested they might all be in fight club.

i'm way late with butch bakery, but mad in love with the concept. here's the badass manifesto: our objective is simple. we're men. men who like cupcakes. not the frilly pink-frosted sprinkles-and-unicorns kind of cupcakes. we make manly cupcakes. for manly men.