Most of them I don’t care to know in depth; what I see on the surface definitely gives me enough of a glimpse into their crazy way of doing life’s business, much less actually getting to know them better, thus meaning actually accepting their weird behavior.
To know them is to love them, right? Or something like that.
Recently I had to dog-sit for a neighbor. I’d never ventured one step into their home until after they’d left the state. Upon arrival, I did several double-takes behind closet doors, convinced I’d find a photographer from Better Homes and Gardens lurking under the stairwell, ready to photograph their immaculately decorated home at any given second.
Mind you, I was dog sitting. This implies I was watching an animal, one which apparently doesn’t shed, lick, scratch, or do anything that would imply an animal–or anyone–lived there. Ever.
There were NO HAIRS IN SIGHT, people.
I come from a house full of hair. No, let me rephrase that–I come from a hair full of house. I basically live in a gigantic wiry, black hairball composed of both my old Lab’s matted fur and my Border Collie’s coarser strands.
To walk into someone’s house and not see a single hair floating around, I was a mixture of impressed, confused, and wondering how much of their life they spend cleaning.
For the record, I spend a lot of time cleaning my house, and it looks good for about 15 minutes until my family comes home and lets the dogs in. Then we go back to living in the hairball, except with the addition of dirty dishes and people leaving their shoes everywhere–Dad, I’m talking to you.
Then there are the people who talk to fill dead air. I really hate this. No one’s talking because no one wants to talk. That does not give you a viable excuse to jabber about unnecessary crap so anyone will listen, just to fill your weird paranoia about no one talking.
You’re weird. Shut up. No one else has this issue.
Then there are people–girls and boys–who are the ones who have the nerve to blatantly flirt with your significant other as if you were a mere dust mote floating within their proximity.
Um, hello, skanky girl with a multitude of venereal diseases and a severe lack of self-respect, can you please back off my boyfriend like, 5 minutes ago? I SAW you making googly eyes with him from across the room. Can you stop? Because I’m about to rip those googly eyes out from your skull, tramp.
So I can get a little violent… big deal. Back off my man and there won’t be a problem. Can’t those girls go proposition someone else? Like on a street-corner? Jeez.
And those people who are freaks about all things food-trendy. When sushi was huge, they were alllll about sushi. “Wanna grab some sashima with me over sake bombs? Mikuni’s wasabi is to die for.” Now that cupcakes are huge, they’re practically humping the red velvet. For one, I never understood the red velvet craze. I mean no disrespect to the South–I love your food, people–but come on. A vanilla cake with cocoa and vinegar? It’s been played. It’s not even good. Stop with the red velvet. How pathetic are those people who latch on to food trends? You have better luck looking less-desperate wearing bell-bottoms 40 years after they were hip. And no, they’re still not okay to wear.
Let’s just put this simply: I don’t like people.
But I do like you guys. A lot!
My readers rock.
So I made you something that totally gives the metaphorical middle finger to all those people who suck, and all those things that bother you.
At the end of the day, my strawberry whoopie pies will make you forget your troubles and forget about that annoying girl who talks your ear off and doesn’t seem to understand the power of silence.
PS–these whoopie pies don’t talk, either. Bonus.
Strawberry Whoopie Pies
1 box strawberry cake mix
1/3 cup water
3 Tablespoons oil
Marshmallow frosting filling (recipe and ingredients follow)
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly grease two baking sheets with cooking spray, then blot excess spray with a paper towel. In a large bowl, combine cake mix, water, eggs and oil until blended, about 2 minutes. Batter will be thick. Using a tablespoon, spoon batter onto baking sheets, 1″ apart, forming small, circular mounds. If you want them smaller, use a cookie dough scoop. Otherwise, the Tablespoon method will make about 8 large whoopie pies.
2. Bake pies 8-10 minutes or until set and lightly golden on the bottom. If baking 2 pans at the same time, rotate pans halfway through baking time. Let cool on baking sheet 5 minutes, then carefully transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Prepare filling.
Marshmallow Frosting Filling
1 cup butter, softened
1 can marshmallow fluff
1 tsp vanilla extract
2-3 cups powdered sugar
1. In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat butter until creamy, about 2 minutes. Beat in marshmallow fluff and vanilla until combined. Gradually add powdered sugar, one cup at a time, until a soft consistency is reached. You don’t want it to be as thick and stiff as icing for cupcakes, but you don’t want it goopy and too liquidy, either. Add more powdered sugar to stiffen if needed.
2. Pipe or spread filling onto the bottom of an inverted whoopie pie half. Top with a like-sized whoopie pie half and gently smoosh together. Best eaten same day.
Mm. These are easy, light, and refreshing. I LOVE the strawberry cake–such a light twist. As for the marshmallow filling, you could substitute a regular buttercream or use whipped topping in the middle instead–so awesome for hot summer nights.
Woohoo for whoopie pies as the cure-all for weird people! BTW–my neighbors aren’t weird. I just really admire their awesomely, outrageously clean house and find it different than my own fur-lined abode.