Albany’s Sam’s Log Cabin Is Ick

I’m pretty sure my friend K who writes about food told me that Sam’s Log Cabin on San Pablo Avenue in Albany has good food. I’m probably wrong about that because they do not. I tried to have Sunday brunch there a few weeks ago and there were roughly 25 people on the list before me 45 minutes until closing time. My friend P and I easily got a table today at 8 am.

It’s cute, especially the back patio area. Everyone working there is very friendly. The portions are big. The blueberry lemon scone, sourdough toast, and potatoes were very good. They are not too fancy to serve Diet Coke. The important stuff, eggs, pancakes, and sausages were not good at all. If it’s possible for all three of these foods to be dry, that’s what they were.

The most important part of breakfast is the egg. If a place overcooks my scrambled eggs, I never go there again. I probably like them more runny than most but if they look and taste like I’m at a breakfast buffet in a London hotel or at Whole Foods for that matter, then I’m out. Sam’s Log Cabin served dry ass eggs.

I ordered the Hardly Working breakfast consisting of a pancake and egg and added sausage because I like to make my own McDonald’s McGriddle type messy roll up thing. The pancake was dry, even with the whole shot glass of syrup. Finally, the sausage was dry, like crumbling in its little casing dry.

I’d say the food was on par with Au Coquelet in Downtown Berkeley. That is a super dis.

Albany’s Sam’s Log Cabin Is Ick

Purple Rain Cupcakes

Free Purple Rain cupcakes to the first 24 Prince party goers tomorrow night

Tomorrow night is the What’s in Prince’s Fridge Memorial Dance Party (wear high heels so you can feel his pain and my pain). I made Purple Rain cupcakes for the occasion.

The Purple Rain cupcakes are simple but delicious. For the chocolate cake I used a box of Duncan Hines’ Devil’s Food cake mix, a small box of instant pudding mix, 1/3 of a cup oil, a cup of whipping cream, 4 eggs, and a generous tablespoon of vanilla. The frosting is buttercream, which includes a large sack of powdered sugar, a stick of butter, a stick of butter flavored Crisco, 1/3 of a cup of whipping cream, and another generous tablespoon of vanilla.

I went to Spun Sugar and got the shiny purple cupcake papers, purple food coloring (there were at least 5 purple choices and I don’t remember which one I chose. I don’t think it matters), and the purple sprinkles. There was much hemming and hawing over what to decorate with.

There were just a few issues. My friend and co party planner D brought champagne with her and I drank a lot of it. I’m pretty sure this enhanced my baking abilities, but I never tried one. My Williams-Sonoma frosting tip was nowhere to be found. I think my friend S might have hid it so as to avoid me leaving sticky spots all over his kitchen. I had to use the star tip. The sprinkles did not want to stick to the frosting. I should have picked lighter ones I think. Sprinkling was D’s job. She made an admirable effort.

Other delicious cupcake/cake ideas:

chocolate cake and Southern Comfort butter cream topped with chocolate and salty caramel corn
chocolate Whiskey Mac cupcakes
Chocolate cupcake with salted caramel filling and vanilla bourbon buttercream
snicker doodle cupcakes
tequila lime birthday cake

Purple Rain Cupcakes

Purple Rain Cocktail At Albany’s Eugene Is Not So Good

I like Albany’s Eugene. I don’t like it because of the food, drinks, or ambience. I like it because they named it after the city in Oregon (not the man’s name) where my beloved Oregon Ducks play. I have mad Oregon pride. Oregonians are some of the best people in the world.

I had an awkward brunch date at Eugene (shout out to my friend S who was randomly there and tried to save me). We only ate there because there were about 25 people on the list waiting for a table at Sam’s Log Cabin on San Pablo Avenue and it was about to close. I don’t like fancy breakfast unless you count silver dollar pancakes. Brunch at Eugene is fancy. There may have been a lot of polenta and kale on the menu but I forget.

My second visit to Eugene was to have a drink while waiting for a table at Little Star. I don’t like the chunky tomato stuff that they put on deep-dish pizzas but that’s another post. I ordered the Purple Rain cocktail, duh. It has gin, crème de violet, maraschino, chartreuse, lemon, and sparkling wine. It does look kind of like polluted (purple) rain water. All I tasted was lemon.

Poor Prince. First he has to die and then he has to have shitty cocktails named after him. Real charmers we Oregonians are, I know.

Purple Rain Cocktail At Albany’s Eugene Is Not So Good



A Puma is a woman in her 30’s seeking a sexual relationship with a younger man. Before my sister was married she called these boys puppies, happy-go-lucky, piling on top of each other, trying to slobber on her face. A woman who paid bills and kept the toilet clean easily impressed a puppy.

I’ve noticed that more young guys are hitting on me lately. Plausible explanations include the fact that I’m older than many of my friends so there are more young guys around. Also, I look younger than I am. Still, my age is correctly displayed on dating apps. I attempt to deter these young suitors by pointing out our age gap but for the most part, they don’t care. I’m pumaized?

I feel a lot more put together, confident, and attractive than I did in my 20’s. I’m sexy and I know it. I’m certainly more than a bill payer with a clean toilet. I don’t mind the attention. Younger boys that I’ve gone on dates with have fewer relationship suitcases in their closets. Many seem to want sex as much as I do.

But, I prefer to date men with their own money and sparkling clean bathrooms rather than boys. I’m uncomfortable teaching a partner the ways of the world. It’s uncomfortable when someone looks up to you just because you have lived longer (you understand this, they may not). Boys, you’re cute, so cute but I’m not you’re puma. I’m not ruling out becoming a cougar in the future, however.


Me<Fuck Buddy<FWB<Casual Date

It’s good to know where you stand so that you can press eject on a “special” someone before the pain and humiliation set in. I thought I was engaged in a casual relationship with a guy. I’m not. To him I am that gross black sticky stuff that collects around the edges of a 3-day old Band-Aid.

Dating casually means that while there is no commitment now, there may be at some point something more. There are no titles or the expectation of seeing someone regularly but you look forward to seeing each other (and make an effort) when possible. When you do get together, you engage in activities out in the world in addition to sex. You like each other. You care about each other and know things about each others lives. You may have met friends and in my case, you are sexually monogamous. You have talked about not having sex with anyone else and condoms are not necessary as long as there is an alternative form of birth control.

A FWB is very similar except they are definitely temporary until you find someone to be in a relationship with. A Fuck Buddy is just about sex, booty calls, scratching an itch. I’m pretty sure given this guy’s reaction to a recent proposition, I am less than a fuck buddy. To him I am nothing.

I pitched a real article to a real (well-respected widely read) publication and the editor wants me to write the story. I’m going to need a sexual partner to engage in sexual activity with me more than once to complete the assignment. The proposed activity ought to be a big turn on for said sexual partner. I thought I had a willing participant lined up, someone I like, trust, have fun with, and who would be supportive of me writing beyond my blog. Nope. Band-Aid gunk.

I should have picked up on the hint when I asked him to hang out with me this past weekend. I sprained my ankle and consequently have decreased social opportunity. I know he is busy. I happily offered to do my own thing in the same vicinity as him. My ex and I would spend hours “together” with him playing piano and me reading. We wouldn’t talk, just be near each other. His response was basically no, that he’s more productive solo. I’m a big believer that even the busiest bee makes time for someone they like. I am not liked.

Still, I excitedly called him to tell him about the article and asked him to have sex with me multiple times. He said, “As long as my schedule permits.” I said something admittedly passive aggressive about not wanting to have to recruit elsewhere. He said, “I’m sure you will have no trouble finding someone else.” Then he started laughing and said something about not being able to come to my What’s In Prince’s Fridge Memorial Dance Party on Friday because he has a friend coming to stay with him and has to pack for his upcoming art show. I still don’t know why this was funny to him. I told him I didn’t care if he came to the party, but I did care if he was telling me he was too busy to have sex with me in order to benefit my future. He made a big exaggerated sighing noise and said “OK.” When I wasn’t amused he laughed some more and informed me that it was funny that he was pretending that it would be a chore. I hurried off the phone.

WTF!? Wake up call. This guy doesn’t care if he ever sees me again. What we have is not a fun mutual needs-meeting situation. I’m like a lame toy he only rarely picks up to amuse himself with for five minutes and then forgets about. I’m like one of those plastic parachute men that’s only fun when it gets caught in a tree.

Time to eject before it’s too late. If you find yourself in this situation, do that and be done. Don’t be like me. It’s too late for me. I like him. I’ll miss him and worry over what’s wrong with me that I’m so abhorrent to him. I’ll attempt to think over and over again how it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him but feel like a total loser. Don’t be me. Don’t burn your delicate places with Nair and attempt shoeicide in 6” heels for a guy who doesn’t like you. Find someone who does like you. Do it now.

I’m going to write the article without him and be published. It’s going to be great, so very great, just look at this fake smile plastered on my face great.


Me<Fuck Buddy<FWB<Casual Date

Sex Positivity With Prince


Goodnight sweet Prince.

If I Was Your Girlfriend

Would you let me kiss you there?
You know, down there, where it counts?
I’ll do it so good
I swear I’ll drink every ounce

Soft And Wet

All I wanna see is the love in your eyes (hey, lover)
And all I wanna hear is your sweet love sighs


Candle light – no (no), I don’t think so!
The crackle of the flame will just spoil my flow
Besides, I can be your fire baby, yeah
Drippin’ all over U like a ball of wax, relax and let go!

Sexy M.F.

U seem perplexed I haven’t taken u yet
Can’t u see I’m harder than a man can get
I got wet dreams comin’ out of my ears

Dirty Mind

I really get a dirty mind (mind, mind, mind…)
Whenever you’re around
It happens to me everytime (time, time, time…)


Girl you gotta take me 4 a little ride up and down
In and out and around your lake

Little Red Corvette

A body like yours oughta be in jail
‘Cause it’s on the verge of bein’ obscene
Move over, baby, gimme the keys
I’m gonna try to tame your little red love machine

I Wanna Be Your Lover

I wanna be your lover
I wanna be the only one that makes you come running
I wanna be your lover
I wanna turn you on, turn you out, all night long, make you shout
Oh, lover! Yeah
I wanna be the only one you come for


I want to be your fantasy
Maybe you could be mine

“Prince was a teenage prodigy delivering an ode to pussy.”

Sex Positivity With Prince