Let's get one thing freakin' straight: I live in New York City. The city that supposedly never sleeps (though I just slept last night, so how the hell do you explain that?). The city that is supposed to have everything a girl wants.

Except it doesn't have everything. Case in point: Why the hell can't I find a gourmet cinnamon roll without raisins in it? No matter where I go, whether it's Citarella, Zabar's, or Abraham's Temple of Cinnamon Rolls, they all have raisins. And I HATE raisins. They taste like urine packed into the dead skin of a 90 year-old man named Gomer. Why people think they would taste any better embedded in sweet, buttery rolls of cinnamon and iced sugar is beyond me. Yet everyone eats them.

But what about me, and those like me? Do we not hunger? Do we not deserve expertly crafted petit pain de cannelle? Do we not pine for type II diabetes?

To the bakers of Manhattan: Give me muh cinnamon rolls!

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