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not the careful-est of girls
Oct. 15th, 2008 11:21 amI spent a large portion of last night making cupcakes for a co-workers birthday, which is tomorrow. 24 23 27! of the fuckers, all currently sitting in my new cupcake carrier I bought at Target.
It's actually not a true cupcake carrier, but is a stacking storage thing; it, however, will suffice.
In the process of making cupcakes, I burnt myself twice; broke the last of my grandmother's good china; got flour all down the front of me; stepped on the cat; and did a lot of glaring at everyone and everything. It was not a good night. I now have a big burn mark on my forearm, right under my wrist tattoo, and another directly under the nail bed on my index finger. ow. Fucker.
After the cupcake extravaganza was a mashed potato extravaganza, because I also promised my co-worker I would make them for her (they're her favorite food and kind of a tradition for me to make them for her birthday). No Taras were harmed in the making of the mashed potatoes, but I did drop a couple pieces of potato on the floor during the cutting up part of the show.
Now, here I am at work: running on almost no sleep because the cat did his walk-down-the-hallway-at-one-in-the-morning-howling thing and woke up my brother, who shouted and chased him down the hall. I then spent my time lying wide awake in bed, unable to sleep, because my brain can be extremely fucked up and I kept torturing myself with different scenarios of what could arise from that incident. I don't know why I do this, but it sucks. I laid there, with my hand on the cat so I could feel if he got up, until about 4 in the morning, when I finally dozed off for a couple of hours.
(I will note, however, that my brother does not share my feelings on animals and this has always been a point of contention between us. So, let it be said that some of the scenarios I played in my head in the wee hours of the morning are not exactly in the territory of far-flung fantasy.)
It's actually not a true cupcake carrier, but is a stacking storage thing; it, however, will suffice.
In the process of making cupcakes, I burnt myself twice; broke the last of my grandmother's good china; got flour all down the front of me; stepped on the cat; and did a lot of glaring at everyone and everything. It was not a good night. I now have a big burn mark on my forearm, right under my wrist tattoo, and another directly under the nail bed on my index finger. ow. Fucker.
After the cupcake extravaganza was a mashed potato extravaganza, because I also promised my co-worker I would make them for her (they're her favorite food and kind of a tradition for me to make them for her birthday). No Taras were harmed in the making of the mashed potatoes, but I did drop a couple pieces of potato on the floor during the cutting up part of the show.
Now, here I am at work: running on almost no sleep because the cat did his walk-down-the-hallway-at-one-in-the-morning-howling thing and woke up my brother, who shouted and chased him down the hall. I then spent my time lying wide awake in bed, unable to sleep, because my brain can be extremely fucked up and I kept torturing myself with different scenarios of what could arise from that incident. I don't know why I do this, but it sucks. I laid there, with my hand on the cat so I could feel if he got up, until about 4 in the morning, when I finally dozed off for a couple of hours.
(I will note, however, that my brother does not share my feelings on animals and this has always been a point of contention between us. So, let it be said that some of the scenarios I played in my head in the wee hours of the morning are not exactly in the territory of far-flung fantasy.)
