Saturday mornings are for baking. And blaring a mix of Etta James and ELO. And slurping two cups of coffee while contemplating the perfect recipe.

I'd set out to make an Easter-themed something or other. This is... not that.

Not even close. No Peeps, no pastels, no bunny-shaped cake with licorice whiskers. (I know you know the one I'm talking about). But who am I to scrap a happy accident? Especially one involving banana cake and homemade peanut butter cups. Roll with it. Don't be scurred.

That's what Saturday mornings are for... kitchen adventures. (And by kitchen adventures, I mean a rotating combination of frog squats and spoonfuls of frosting while waiting for cupcakes to cool).

{Nutella Cloud Frosting via Sweetapolita}

{Banana Cupcakes via Willow Bird Baking}

It's the first day of spring. And the first day of my twenty-fourth year.

Ushered it in with a bitch of a thunderstorm that triggered a power outage that tripped the fire alarm that raged for an hour. Became a sad, soggy fire drill. Wearing nothing but pajamas and a scowl. Birthday bar was set real high. So of course celebration came in the form of a riveting day at the office.

Epic fail? Hardly. I've got a fiesta sandwich going. Did a little last weekend. Party bus, the world's greatest disco band, drunk-eating cake minus utensils. (One for the books, if you ask Van the Man). Will do a little more this weekend. Received a birthday serenade from the entire, spring-breaking Beta chapter of Sig Ep. (Thank you little brother). And still completely sugar-buzzed from the Tiff's. (If you can say no to warm cookies, you're a bigger person than me).

I don't feel older. I don't feel wiser. But I do feel incredibly loved... grateful... and apparently, sentimental.

Deep fried. Cash only. And Spanish for fat...

Brunch, bracketology and a couple loads of laundry became wine, sing-alongs to Sir Paul and a coconut cream donut drowned in chocolate. And maybe, just maybe, a dueling rendition of the über-classy "Pour Some Sugar on Me." Because what's more appropriate when waiting for donuts from an airstream trailer?

I scraped quarters from the bottom of my purse to pay for those hot, doughy pillows, knowing good and well I'd be cursing them the next morning when tugging on my skinny jeans - which (full disclosure) were promptly wadded up, tossed aside and replaced by the shift dress with no waistline.

Yes, Gourdough's will probably give you the sugars. Health nuts, you'd be better off eating a stick of butter, paper wrapper and all. But if you come to Austin and don't partake, you're living life dangerously unfulfilled. And if I can't convince you, the Mother Clucker will.