As I have mentioned before I treat my cats like my children as I have a small little life. They also think they are people and so it's reciprocated. They also think I am a giant pillow. This morning I woke up because not only could I not move but I could not feel either of my arms. One cat was stretched out on me, all along me. Like I was a hammock of sorts, with his little head digging directly into my rib cage. The other was stretched out along my arm. The other arm? I was sleeping on it. After I shook them off of me my alarm clock went off. That's when I realized my arms were both dead asleep and therefore completely useless. I tried to fling my arms across my body, it was a no go, they were simply piles of rubber. I started to panic not only because in my half asleep mind I had decided I would never regain control of my limbs and have to live without arms but also because I have one of those alarm clocks that starts off soft and then gets ridiculously loud. It was, by now, waking people four towns over. So there I am, two dead arms, trying to twist them somehow up to turn off the alarm. It didn't work. I finally pulled a MacGyver and turned it off with my chin. This was an excellent way to start my day. I rule.
Last night was my last cake decorating class, which was sad. Not only because I don't have an excuse to eat icing once a week, but because again, I am all skill and grace. The last cake we made was supposed to look like a basket full of flowers. We learned how to make roses and then she let us start decorating. Rose number one complete, so pretty. I went to delicately put it on the cake and it slide off the rose nail and directly into my lap. Bullseye. Oh, and the icing was florescent pink, so my jeans now have a certain spot on the crotch that is kinda noticeable. I move on. Second rose fell off the knife and onto the floor. The third, I think had knowledge of the fate that laid before it i.e. crotch or floor, so it basically disintegrated. My instructor said she had never seen anything like it. I'm a special case. So finally I made one that made it to my cake, and then gave up. So my "basket full of flowers" is a basket with a single flower and me standing in the background doing jazz hands.
On to the I Hate LA portion of the blog that has become protocol. Last week in my class we decorated cupcakes. Being as I didn't want 12 elaborately decorated cupcakes sitting in my house I took them to work. I walked around offering them to people and it was as though I had offered to kill their children and pour some acid on them. The looks of disgust followed quickly by a hissed "I don't eat sugar" were enough to break a girl's heart. My boss' assistant finally took one. Throughout the day I saw her staring at it, visibly drooling. About once an hour she would break down, reach out a trembling finger, and take a small swipe of icing. She closed her eyes and savored it. She got through about half the frosting before she threw the rest of the cupcake away and told me she was going to have to do an extra couple of miles on the treadmill. Seriously? No...seriously? She consumed maybe an extra 50 calories but I may as well have brought Armaggedon into her home. Ergo, my fake basket cake is currently sitting in my refrigerator because I just can't see it turned away. I miss people who eat. I won't go as far to say I miss the Midwest, but at least I know they would have taken the cake and actually enjoyed it.
Good times people, good times.