How to mend a broken heart.

Ok, I'm willing to admit that sometimes the whole 'slapdash' thing works against me.  Thank god there are some perfectionists out there or I would totes do something stupid like send my wedding invitations out with the wrong date on them,  and then have a hardcore Bridezilla meltdown in the shower (that may have involved screaming obscenities and/or crying) when I realised.

Oh wait, I DID DO THAT!  [Hangs head in shame].

Anyway, developing this theme a little more, today was Baby B's small family birthday partay.

In the name of keeping things square for the siblings, I decided to do the same kind of thing that we did for P's first bday, and that included, (you know what I'm going to say right!?) a HEART SHAPED BIRTHDAY CAKE!

Booyah.

In the interests of keeping things easy, I made everyone else bring a plate, and bought Woolies croissants to serve.  Simple!  All I had to do was make the cake.  Which I've done a bazillion times at least.

The heart tin I have is ENORMO.  So I do the same basic melt and mix butter cake recipe I use for everything, and make three times the normal recipe.

So this means when I make the heart cake I need 6 eggs.  When I opened the carton last night, I discovered I only had 5 eggs.  Mum was there, so I said "Oh SHIT A BRICK I've only got 5 eggs.  Mum, 5 eggs will be enough won't it? I'm supposed to have 6".

Mum said, "Yeah, she'll be right mate, no worries, she's apples, just shove the 5 eggs in it'll be right", and then I said "Yeah, I mean it's chocolate cake so there'll be cocoa in it which will make it a bit dry but she'll be right, 5 eggs will be HEAPS!  Who needs 6 eggs? Pah to you recipe" and other things along those lines.

So I merrily made it with 5 eggs.  Everything was going swimmingly and I was having another glass of red wine as the cake cooled on the stove top, and then I had to turn it out of the tin.

And this shit happened.

Insert NYPD blue music here - "Duht duhht!"

When it cracked I went through the seven stages of grieving, like you do when your heart is broken.

Shock - "What the FUCK is happening! I can't believe it, I have made this a million times! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING PEOPLE!"

Denial - "It's fine, it's just a small crack, no-one can see it, it's a perfect masterpiece flawless cake, yes, yes, yes it is....nice little cake, good cake..."

Anger - "Goddammn this thing it is RUINED and I am THROWING IT IN THE BIN AND BUYING ONE FROM WOOLIES, I am not kidding, I am losing it, it is going in the bin RIGHT NOW GAHHHHHHH!!!!"

Bargaining - "Come on little cakie wakie, I'm sorry I was so angry, I didn't mean it, we can make it work, please...!!""

Guilt - "Poor Baby B, I bought all the other shit for his party from crappy Woolies, I just wanted to make ONE PERFECT HOMEMADE THING FOR HIM AND NOW HIS WHOLE LIFE IS RUINED FOREVER AND HE WILL BE SCARRED FOR LIFE!!"

Depression - "I am such a crap mother, I can't cook to save myself, who am I, where am I, someone pour me a glass of woine, I'm having a moment..."

Acceptance and hope - "You know what! I think I can do it! Yes! It's working! Look everybody I AM KING OF ALL OF THE CAKES AND THE WHOLE WORLD AND EVERYTHING!!!!! SUCK THAT MARTHA STEWART!! BOOYAH!!"


Anyway, at some point during this whole rollercoaster of emotion I posted this pic on Instagram (yeah for social media!) and everyone said "Just glue that bitch together with icing, nobody will notice, ain't nobody got time for dat!" and so forth, so I didn't completely freak out til this morning when I realised we HAD NO ICING SUGAR.

"Duht duhht".

This slapdash gig sometimes comes at a price people.  My life is my art.

Anyway, before I had time to replicate my Bridezilla moment in the shower, Mum rushed off to the servo and came back with icing sugar out the whazoo, and I successfully glued the SHIT out of that broken heart until it looked like this.

Pheeeew!

Anyway after that I was exhausted and could have done with a lie down, but the show had to go on and actually we had a lovely time and Baby B was his usual chuckly self, so that's the main thing.

Ever had a cake fail? Ever saved a cake from the bin with mad icing skillz?  Had a broken heart?  Tell your old friend Slapsie...I won't judge.  Believe me.

Zen and the Art of Blogging.



Hello all. We had a busy weekend.  I won’t bore you with too many details but for the sake of completeness here’s a sort of speed blogging weekend roundup.  If you can’t be bothered reading the whole thing I have highlighted some key words for you, which I will put together in a Zen-Type synopsis for the Busy Blogger. So just skip to the bottom now.*

FRIDAY

Exhausted by the emotional highs and lows of wrangling P and B into bed, M and I toasted the weekend with Kentucky Fried Chook.  Gross. 

SATURDAY

Attempted to start sorting out the horror that is our back-yoo-ard  in fifty bazillion per cent humidity.  Don Burke would be turning in his grave.  What’s that? He’s still alive? My bad.

Drove to the big smoke to the inlaws house.  Wrangled P and B into bed in a strange house/bed/cot.  Got ready to go out to nice French restaurant for M’s sister’s bday. Went out to said restaurant. Had fun.  Everyone drank lots of wine. I was designated driver . Sad face.  So instead of getting my booze on, I went crazy, Broadway-style on the menu and ordered and ate like a woman possessed. I KNOW, so out of character, what with my general tendency to order celery sticks and sparkling mineral water. Bahaha.

I wore a black dress I’ve had for over ten years, a sort of weird gold metallic top from KMART over it and a clanky faux gold metal necklace thing from high end accessories purveyor Diva. I need more night time pieces in my wardrobe and I don’t mean more flannelette PJs. I so rarely go out at night these days that I have hardly anything appropriate to wear any more.  I need a few EVENINGY type things.  Well, when I say need, obviously I mean WANT.  

SUNDAY

Packed our crap up and hotfooted it to a party for a cutie patootie 2 year old in the park.  It was fun, but also very hot and humid.  Said 2 year old became exhausted from all the attention and fell asleep on a swing in the playground. Hee hee.

Drove back home. Saw that the green waste bag bin thing I had ordered had turned up. M asked me how much it was going to cost? I couldn’t remember. M asked me what company I’d ordered it from? Couldn’t remember that either. M asked me when they were picking it up? I had no idea.  Attention to detail might have to come off my resume I think.

M sorted out the front yard a bit and cut down the fallen tree in the backyard. It’s now lying in pieces on the footpath waiting to be collected.

Next weekend we will both be getting our Jamie Durie on in a sort of back-yoo-ard blitz of our own.  If we leave the weeds any longer they will finally grow over the house in a sort of Grey Gardens type scenario. Just call me Big Edie.

*ZEN INSPIRED SYNOPSIS FOR BUSY READERS

Kentucky Fried Chook.  Horror back-yoo-ard humidity.  

Drove.  Wrangled.  French Restaurant.  Fun.  Wine.  Driver.  Crazy menu ate possessed. Black dress weird top clanky faux necklace.  Need wardrobe flannelette.  Appropriate.  Need.  Need want.

Packed crap, party park.  Hot humid.  Exhausted asleep.  Drove.  Bin.  Cost?  Couldn’t remember.  Company?  Couldn’t remember.  Picking?  No idea.  Detail.  Tree backyard.

Jamie Durie blitz.  Grey Gardens.  Big Edie.

What did youse get up to?  Do tell!

Linking up with Alicia at One Mother Hen for Open Slather!