Tuesday, 20 April 2010

Cake and fury and tight trousers

Ladies and Gentlemen of the internet, today was not a good day.

See, I almost want to just stop there instead of going into a massive whineathon. Almost. Also, I know what would improve today beyond all recognition, and that would be taking off these bastard too tight trousers, and then maybe burning them. Then going to bed to watch Glenn Close exude expressionless menace in the direction of an exceptionally peculiar William Hurt (Damages series 2). But no, I will settle for taking the trousers off and whining a little at you. Yes, I am now blogging with no trousers on. Is it unbearably erotic? I am also scratching my scalp like a rabid dog and wearing a grubby apron. It's a minority peversion, to say the least.

I should at least let you see the shittastic cake I managed to produce.

I think it would be fair to say I was not exactly in the baking zone tonight. I was more in the foetal ball zone, really. The whimpering zone. I had a day filled with self-induced stress, transport disasters, and self-loathing. Tight trousers will do that. The cake should have been easy. Really. It was meant to be a treasure island. All it needed was blue, yellow and green colouring, a plastic monkey, chocolate raisins and an ice cream cone filled with red stuff for a volcano. Unfortunately, of that list, the only things I actually managed to accumulate were: yellow and green colouring and an ice cream cone. I had a plastic turtle and a plastic pirate of such wildly inappropriate sizes that the island, once completed, appeared to be being terrorised by the King Kong of reptiles and a 600 ft sailor, carrying a totally gratuitous number of weapons. No blue sea. No lava. I also ran out of icing at a critical point and had to go to the supermarket twice in one evening (on a MONDAY, Belgian residents. When all of Belgium comes to stand in the supermarket and fiddle slowly in its purse for 6 euros in 2 cent coins). I did allow myself a moment of pride, though, at filling the volcano with Space Dust. Then I went back to eating dry cake offcuts and whimpering.

Top 5 minor préoccupations du jour for displacing the real worries (sssssssssh, don't let the anxiety even hear me say that or it will come and sit on my chest in the night again):

1. Trousers tight as sausage skin. Have they shrunk? Have I got vastly fat? Can I burn them? Will my waist ever recover? Will my mood, more importantly?

2. Domestic chaos. All the lightbulbs have gone, the garden is a terrifying nest of weeds and cat shit, the pervasive smell of drains persists, my zen room full of clothes is littered with the carcass of a flat pack I opened and got spooked by. I need a handyman.

3. Freckles and other sun damage and minor vanity problems. Including the thorny issue of whether I will ever remember to take the surprisingly expensive Imedeen We Make You YounG Again Through the Power of Fish Oils And Unicorn Meat capsules on the floor under the flatpack carcass.

4. Will Darwin Deez make it to Brussels for Thursday or will he be engulfed in a giant ashy cloud?

5. Will I be too much of a lame ass loser to organise a sort-of-very-late-housewarming party in May as originally planned, or worse, will I organise one and noone will come? Would it be shit even if it did happen? Would YOU come, internet?

What tiny worries keep you from spinning off your axis about the big ones?


Bryony said...

I am having surgery tomorrow on my heel and am most worried about sorting the laundry before I go. Ridiculous. I am also worried stiff that I will be unable to drink hospital coffee and will look a jerk if I take a flask.

Alison Cross said...

Course we'd come *clanks bottles in carrier bag noisily*

I'm packed :-)

Ali x

soleils said...

I would come to your party. I know it would be great. Even with that, er... endearing-looking cake as the pièce de résistance.
My tiny worries are too numerous to mention, as are my big ones. So I won't.

Em said...

I would fly through the ashes of ewoidfjgheroisufhl*#aodysdl!jaslj volcano to come to your party.

Perhaps I could bring a cake.

pinolona said...

spots! spots, huge ones. Yuck. And a lumpy forehead scar that looks like an enormous permanent spot.
And my embarrassing crappy French accent (oui je suis traductrice. de francais).
And not having an espresso pad holder on my Senseo machine.

All of the above are much, much more important than my VAT return.

I'd come!! I like parties. Cake looks good. You're not a real slattern til you've had cafards.

wv 'jacem' - I am lying down (weird combo of Latin stem and Slavic ending)

Anonymous said...

Oh, that VW rather sounds like "We're lying down" in mock Catalan(sorry, another translator here).

Jaywalker, by all means, do it! A party at your place would be extremely crash-in worthy.

(here ends creepy anonymous comment and professional credentials at once)

Jan said...

The "smell of drains" could be coming from the refrigerator, perhaps? There is a drain pan that sometimes collects nastiness, which then smells perpetually until the pan (and also the drain tube) is cleaned.

the polish chick said...

not an hour ago i drove down a (thankfully quiet) residential street, cursing the crazy lady in front of me for driving on the wrong side of the road. where the fuck is she from? i thought all glary and chagrinned.

within roughly 37 seconds (that's a looong time, really, count!) it suddenly dawned on me that it was me, and not her, driving on the wrong side of the street. so now i worry my little brain is taking a permanent vacation.

party? when? i'll be there, if i can find my way.

WrathofDawn said...

"La-la-la-la, I can't hear you!"

This is how I handle all worries. Of course, all my small worries get ignored until they become big worries, then get dealt with in as quick and slap-dash a way as possible. Genius, n'est-çe pas? No. No, it is not. But so far it hasn't landed me in jail.

I would brave the ash of Eyjafjallajökull for a Waffle party. Actually, that's a lie. I don't fly unless I absolutely have to. Could you plan it far enough in advance so that I can arrive by boat? From North America?

AnonyGay said...

I will come to a wafflextravaganza if Iceland continues to exact its revenge on the continent and I am unable to return to homeland (and parents, sigh).

And I have been known to go to three different corner shops on a Monday in order to avoid the horror that is the Belgian grocery store. Though it is fun to watch old ladies battle for the last endive. I am impressed that you escaped unscathed and still managed to make that, um, cakextravaganza. I think you should have used the pirate though. Pirates always add joy.

That's Not My Age said...

I'll come to the party but only if you bake another shittastic cake covered in space dust/volcanic ash.

I'm worried about my slipped disc. Will it ever get better? Will I be able to sit down like a normal person again or do I have to spend the rest of my life standing?

frau antje said...

Can't tell tiny worries from big ones anymore (perhaps by design), but am a little bit worried that construction workers/handymen have no Hippocratic oath, "First, do no harm."

Worried about you lying on the floor of the ladies, naturally. If you don't do that I will come by a few days before the party and pour vinegar down all your drains.

Bath bun said...

Just lost a court case so on top of having some Kenyan fraudster steal €7000, now have to pay legal costs. And worse, someone (who I wonder, waffle??) managed to leave a toy in my house that screams everytime you walk past it, and sometimes even if you don't. Yes, I need a party and will bring sloe gin, 80's music and screaming toy.

puncturedbicycle said...

Agoraphobia covers a lot of bases for me. (Do I have to call it that or can I not just say I don't want to leave the house?) Now that I've stopped fighting it (sweet relief), it means that I don't challenge myself at all, so that's one irrational worry that tidily overshadows just about every other more pressing issue. I'm nothing if not efficient.

I too am planning a party and my main concern is that my way of coping with parties goes a little like, hold drink, drink drink, stare into middle distance as if waiting for a bus. I hear that isn't considered good hosting.

I would come to your party. Note my strategy above for coping with parties. So, as long as that's okay.

And why not shoehorn in another disjointed thought to say that I have been there with the flat pack which remained partly unpacked and unassembled for months. Eventually, I was so tired of being bullied by it that I rose up and had at it like a recent graduate of a self-defense class might retaliate against a weak and poorly armed mugger. Since that day, no flat pack can defeat me. It's a matter of confidence.

Uh, is this comment longer than your post?

curlywurlyfi said...

O the misery of too-tight trousers. On Sunday I was on Oxford Street + in desperation went into BHS (BHS!!!! not even JoJo LewLew!) + bought an emergency pair of cropped cotton elasticated waist ones to replace the jeans that were cutting me in half + making me hot + cross. Let me repeat that. Elasticated waist, from BHS. I have no worries, for I am shortly to kill myself with shame.

magpie said...

I'm too nervous about the idea of being in a room full of strangers to travel to Belgium for the pleasure. Which is sad because I would love to come! Also, I give good presents. (that isn't meant to sound pervy or weird, but having re-read it it kind of does, or is that just me?)

Sewmouse said...

I will come to your party - if I can get a passport in time and if Iceland stops barfing into the stratosphere.

I can bring donuts.

Lisa-Marie said...

Clearly they did shrink. you are a tiny skinny person.

I would come, but it'd have to be a really awesome party to get me to travel from Scotland, especially as it's likely i would be traveling to Belgeland on the bus. I would have to demand ALOT of alcohol. And Ali as a travelling companion to entertain me.

Waffle said...

Ah, you are all lovely saying you would come to my party, which would be a festival of awkward standing around, I expect.

Impressively, today is far worse than yesterday. I am going to bury myself up to the neck in the garden now.

auntiegwen said...

Of course I would be delighted to come to your party, I will bring gin and make nice.

Happy Frog and I said...

It would be lovely to come to a party you organised. When I have big problems I just think of the theme tune to the magic roundabout and feel instantly better.

Alison Cross said...

Oh don't worry, people would only be standing around awkwardly until Lisa Marie and I pour ourselves out of an airport taxi clutching a now empty carrier bag.

We will be so shamefully hammered that everyone will start to talk about us. Thus the ice will be broken and the party can begin.

Sadly for me, it will be the end of the party. I will eat all your cheesy scones and pass out on top of your sleeping children, with your weepette taking up the rest of the bed space.

Meanwhile Lisa Marie will steal your lipsticks.

Ali x

PS - Lisa Marie and I have never met ;-)

Jessica said...

I have just emerged from my sulk, and though I really did want to comment yesterday, have only found the words today, being slightly less enraged and more contemplative. So here are the worries that keep me from acknowledging the larger, more toxic volcanic clouds:

I worry that my recently disordered eating should rationally, be worrying to me, but that it actually isn't really.

I worry because my studies should be finished at the end of this month, and though I am close, I am oh so prone to distraction.

I worry that my tomato plantlings on the roof will die.

I worry that I may die of hyponatremia today as I try to correct for my complete lack of water consumption over the past week. Will 12 cups of mint-infusion kill me?

I worry for you waffle, under your covers with your paper bag and the wheepette. I am not far if you want company, a hug or an ear.

As for your party, I'd totally come. I'd brave the alcove of doom to bring truffles, wear my fanciest asymmetrical black sheath-like things, drink (and encourage others to,) in the name of defeating shy-violet-syndrome.

Anonymous said...

your cake looks like a lovely worthy vegan cake. the kind of vegan party cake where the kids get homegrown carrots and cucumber sticks and the parents get organic elderberry wine and placenta pate. This is of course an imaginary party, not your party and i am thinking maybe vegans don't eat placenta on principle, but you know what i mean. Nice cake! (ahem).
I am mostly worried about my premature ageing. It is getting obvious. I cannot pull of the 'wacky youngster with unkempt but charming hair' any longer. My days are numbered. And i fear my new peg-leg trousers are not actually the best idea for someone with what my mother terms 'Big Legs'. She can talk.

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