My sister (who’s really good at looking tough) visited this weekend for a big Easter Extravaganza, during which the closest we came to acknowledging the holiday was picking out four lovely pastel Magnolia cupcakes. Oh, and while drunk, Meghan also wished the entire staff of Papaya Dog and about 30 W. 4th Street loiterers a “Happy Eeeeeeeaster!!!!” That was fun. And if I wanted to stretch it, we also ate some He is Risen Reese’s Eggs and some damn fine Peter Cottontail Nachos Supreme. We also heard some church bells. That friggin’ woke us up.

Anyway, about these cupcakes. There’s a lot of hype about the Magnolia Bakery on Bleecker because it was featured on Sex and the City, blah blah blah. I think the cupcakes are really good, but I’m a complete sugar hound and sometimes eat only dessert items all day, so I’m probably biased. I checked out some of the customer reviews on Citysearch — 9 out of 10 of them are negative, and more than half complain about the “hipper-than-thou” staff. It’s really funny though, because despite all these disappointed customers, there is always a line around the corner. I like to laugh at this line as I jog by in my spandex shorts and jogbra.

“Is that true?”
“Yes. Everything except the jogging part.”
(name the movie)

No, I don’t run by the bakery. I do go there a lot and get cupcakes. I’m sorry, I think they’re good. I treat them like ice cream cones, slowly licking (or fingering, for added kink) around the buttercream perimeter until I eat half the frosting; then I finally bite into the cake, which I could give or take.

The complainers are right about the cake part - it’s dry and often tasteless. But I really don’t see the point in slamming the staff. Last time I checked, there was no reason to be afraid of a girl in a bandana or a guy with a nose ring. They work in a bakery, remember? Their jobs probably suck. Get over yourselves, because not everyone in food service is going to act delighted to serve loud tourists in large groups. In fact, I sort of admire their honesty. They know they can act as disinterested and unhelpful as they want, because people will invariably keep coming back. That’s pretty funny.

If I didn’t like the icing so much, I’d call it obnoxious instead of funny, because I’d have to keep taking visitors to a place I didn’t appreciate. As it is, I don’t care if the chick behind the counter is a bitch as long as I get out of there with a box o’ four. I’d say it’s a pretty fair tradeoff.

Of course, if they were mean to me, I’d probably complain too. I just don’t see why they would be. I’m sooooo West Village-chic. Totally.

And now for a new monthly installment called “If I worked at the Magnolia Bakery…”

I just realized how sick I am of the word “cupcake,” after reading all those reviews. If I worked at the Magnolia bakery, I’d become especially sick of it. The cashiers have to ask the customers what’s in their boxes, and the answer is almost always “cupcakes.” I’d want to kill myself. I’m sure they do, too, partly because they’re sick of the word and partly because they’re really frustrated that this arguably mediocre product is the only thing people ever buy. I’d seriously consider an operation to block out the word “cupcake” from my hearing and understanding. I guess I wouldn’t really be a good employee then, but it seems none of them are anyway, so I’d probably fit right in. I have lots of bandanas. Hmmm. Why don’t they just make a policy that people have to hold open their boxes so the cashiers can take inventory themselves? This would prevent a) lying, b) any dangerous verbal interaction between the tragically hip and the commoner, and c) the spoken word “cupcake.” It’d be perfect.