Strawberry Cake…Good!

Monday was David’s birthday, and since his favorite cake is a homemade strawberry one, I made one for him.  Tater Tot added the candles.

Granted, it wasn’t the prettiest cake the world has ever seen, but SHUT YOUR MOUTH, it was good!  The icing alone will make you want to jump up, turn around, and slap the next person you see three times.

Here’s the recipe.



1 pkg. plain white cake mix

1 pkg. strawberry gelatin

1 cup mashed strawberries with juice

1 cup vegetable oil

1/2 cup whole milk

4 large eggs


1 pkg. (8 oz) cream cheese

1 stick butter

3 1/2 cups powdered sugar

3/4 cup mashed strawberries (drained)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Lightly grease three 9-inch round pans.  Set pans aside.

Place cake mix, strawberry gelatin, mashed strawberries, oil, milk, and eggs in a large bowl and beat on low speed 1 minute.  Strawberries should be well-blended.

Divide batter among pans and place in oven.

Bake cakes until lightly brown (about 28-30 minutes).  Remove from oven and allow to cool for 40 minutes.

Prepare Frosting:

Combine cream cheese and butter, and mix on low speed for a minute.  Add sugar and strawberries.  Blend frosting on low until sugar is incorporated.

To assemble: place one cake layer on plate and spread top with frosting.  Repeat with other 2 layers.  Use remaining frosting for the sides of the cake.

Optional:  Have a 3 1/2-year-old decorate with candles.


Embarrassing Moment #893

The last embarrassing moment I wrote about involved a bathing suit, or lack thereof, and a near-death experience in Hawaii.

This one involves a station wagon and Starbucks.  The times?  They have surely changed.  Still, a bunch of men got a good laugh, much like in Hawaii.

A couple or five days a week, I walk into the same Starbucks on my way to school and order one of three things:  a caramel apple spice, a caramel mocha (sometimes hot, sometimes iced), or a white chocolate mocha with a shot of peppermint (again, sometimes hot, sometimes cold).

Several times a week, a group of men meets at this particular Starbucks.  There are probably six or seven of them, and they always sit near the front of the store. You know…where THE BIG WINDOWS ARE.

Well, last Wednesday, I parked my station wagon, went in, got my caramel apple spice, and went back to my car.  I used the keyless remote, but when I got to my car, it was still locked.  I must have pushed the unlock button 15 times in a panic before I realized I could just use my key.  Of course, when I tried to turn the key, it wouldn’t budge.  By this time, I felt sick.  What was wrong with my car?  My phone is in my purse, and my purse is in my car.  Oh, stinking heck!  I’ll be late.  What do I do?  Do I have it towed for something like this?  And how can I pay for it when I can’t get to my purse, which is sitting right there on the seat…

That’s when I actually looked inside the car.  It was very clean, whereas mine looks like it’s driven by a mother with two small children.  That was my first clue.  The fact that there were no car seats was another.

I’d been standing there for what felt like a sweet forever before I realized that I was basically trying to steal someone else’s car.

I backed up a few steps, looked to my left, and there — three spaces over was my car.

And there, inside Starbucks, were half-a-dozen retired men chuckling and giving me the thumbs-up.

This time, at least, all of my clothes were on.

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