cake decorating for dumb asses

deprived of any real creative outlet (or, more specifically, the time to attend to the ones I already/used to have)...



I've started taking cake decorating classes. this was probably not a good idea. I'm already frustrated (<----understatement) with the million projects that are floating around in my head but not materializing, and adding another pursuit is probably in bad judgement. but another preggo friend is doing it, its in the evening (ie. daddy'll have to babysit. SCORE!) and since we're both huge, it's not like we can head to a sushi bar, have some cocktails than go scouting for hot guys at the mall or anything...so, despite lacking any passion for this, whatsoever...I agreed to go.


besides, I figured being able to make a really slamming cake would open my hippy gift giving options open. I mean...how many picture frames/cards/name plaques can you get from one person before the charm wears off and they just look cheap?


I've already had two full blown wake me up heart-a-racing cake decorating nightmares.

should a new hobby make you lose sleep? give you the sweats? cause you to curse (more than usual)?

notice the attention to detail...

if not...I'm thinkin' I need to give up on these damn cakes.

however, being a recovering trooper (there once was a day when I considered myself tough)...I decided to give my assignment a whirl and packed up my cake decorating shit (did I mention my bank account got raped in lack-luster pursuit of my cake decorating dreams?) and to head to my mom's house.

my reasoning for going to my mother's house yesterday was twofold:

firstly, oqui needed to paint the woodwork...and no VOC paint wasn't gonna cut it. so to avoid the stank, the Prof and I needed to head out.

the great care with which the icing was applied...

and secondly, I was hoping she'd mind the boy so I could get my cake on.

so.didn't.happen.

four hours in I had nothing but a bowl of batter and some mint and baby poo colored icing.

off to a great start.

then...my mother and her husband split. (not split up...just left) so, I was elbow deep in icing (my lord how i HATE making icing), the Prof hadn't napped all day (ie. he was hella fun to deal with) and she collects antique dishes...which were all readily accessible for the Prof to smash should I take my eyes (or hands) off of him for a second. fun.

in other words...my hands were full/tied and not a damn thing was getting done on my cake. never mind the fact that I lugged 83 pounds of supplies to her house, with her full knowledge that it was to be my cake making day.

siiiiiiiike.

anyway, I managed to at least bake the bitches (her oven is unlevel, btw), put the crumb coat of icing on (for the uninitiated (like me) that means the dirty layer of icing that's supposed to go UNDER your nice clean pretty coat) and loaded up some piping bags with poo-mint.

smooth.

never made it to that nice smooth professional looking what I was going for top coat of icing look.



I gave the fuck up. I was gonna toss the mixer, eat the 8 cups of icing with a spoon: on the spot...and pour a bottle of vegetable oil on the floor as punishment for my mom abandoning me...


then something clicked.

this is hard, I thought. I'm no good at this. (actually "suck balls" is the terminology that comes to mind) therefore...

I CANNOT GIVE UP!

I finished the fucking cake.

so much love went into this bitch...I couldn't fit the fuck.

actually, it wasn't a "fucking" cake...but only because I couldn't fit "FUCK" on it...but in the world of happy-shmappy-housewife cake decorating...I'm pretty sure it'd be viewed like a recently jailed whore.

still deciding whether or not to pursue this particular creative "outlet" or not.

like my mother said (her exact words) "FUCK THAT! I like things that provide the greatest effect with the least amount of effort"

word, mom.

I have so many other creative pursuits that are FORGIVING. you make a little no-no and there are 83 ways to fix it.

with cakes...not so much. you can slave and labor and sweat, white-knuckled, over a spatula and icing bag, be 87% on your game and end up with a cake (after 6 hours of work) that's 13% pure horse shit.

ok. so I don't hate CAKES...just decorating them.

sooo...the jury is still out on this cake bidness...




and my blood sugar is through the fucking roof.