This Post is an Illustrated Cautionary Tale...

...about how writing a little outline of what you want to say can sometimes be a good thing. Because I didn't do that here, and well...you've been warned:

So, before I get into this post, a word: The comments on my last post about weird crushes were, without hyperbole, among the most entertaining things I’ve ever read in my life. I did a little squee of glee every time I got a new comment, because I knew that, inevitably, one of you would be confessing to a crush on Paulie Shore, or Dick Cheney, or something. And I, consequently, would feel happy that I was not alone with my weird crushes. Furthermore, I was pleased to see my adoration for one Mr. Ari Gold consistently validated by you all. I love you Ari! Call me! Even though I know you’re not real, I sort of think you are!

Ahem.

Anyway, while I’d initially thought my crush on The Iron Chef Chairman was out there, you guys blew my mind…George Bush Sr., The Apprentice’s George, CHARLES NELSON REILLY, to name a few. Just…wow. Your comments were gold. Gold, I tell you. So much so that I’m feeling compelled to make a tally of your crushes; possibly in pie chart form, because there were a lot of overlaps. (Like Mo Rocca, for instance. Who knew?!) I’ll probably update the post with that soon.

*****

This past weekend marked Toopweets’ second 1^st birthday party. Yes, my child had two birthday parties. (The first one a few weeks ago was for family, and this weekend’s festivities were for his lil’ baby friends.) Look at him with his multiple birthday celebrations. He’s like a celebrity. A wee, drooling celebrity that only says about 6 words, but a celebrity nonetheless. So basically [insert the name of the celebrity you wish to insult here. I’m going to go with Fergie Ferg].

Oh.

And speaking of celebrities (and Ari Gold…see how neatly I tie up my insane digressions?)…a few months back, I’d posted a picture of T dressed as Turtle from Entourage. At the time, Darren had commented that he’d like to see T dressed as Ari. Not a problem:

"Vince! We've got Medellin! I'm calling E right now!"

What’s that? I’m totally off on a tangent? How surprising!

Back to the point:

T's party, while fun, required a lot of preparation, and general Susie Homemaker-type skills that I do not naturally possess. Need a thesis on postmodern isolationism? I’ve got that! Want to chat about America’s Next Top Model/Top Chef/The Office, et al? Sure! Need a lip gloss recommendation? NOT a problem. But planning and arranging an entire party for a baby? *Crickets chirping* Fortunately, my parents agreed to host the thing, and with the brilliant party-related expertise of my mother, everything else sort of fell smoothly into place after that.

There was, however, one thing with which I remained weirdly obsessed, and that was my desire to make and decorate T’s cake from scratch.

He loves trains, and when I found this adorable cake pan, I resolved then and there to go Real Simple on this cake’s proverbial ass. I don’t know what compelled me to do this, but I decided that the task would be (pardon the expression) easy as pie.

This would later prove to be a huge mistake.

You see, on those rare occasions when I decide to actually stick with a project, I have a tendency to make sure it’s PERFECT. See this picture? Two in the morning, baby.

If you’d have stopped by, you might have seen me repeatedly writing “ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY” all over the cake with red frosting. I can honestly say that I now understand Ozzy Osbourne’s pain, for I, too, have gone off the rails on a crazy train. Only mine is covered in vanilla goodness.

I was the epitome of every baking scene that’s ever appeared in a sitcom. Flour smudges on my clothes, frosting on my cheek, frantic yet precise placement of the decorations as 80s music played in the background…a total confectioner’s sugar-coated cliché.

All in all though, my slavish devotion to decorating the cake yielded pretty good results:

And can’t you just see T’s appreciation?

No? You can’t? Funny, neither could I. He couldn’t have cared less; this was the first time I’d given him corn on the cob, and he became quickly obsessed. In the above picture, he was staring at some nearby corn, while STILL HOLDING CORN. I think that I have maybe two pictures of him from the entire party without the damn corn. In one of them, he’s destroying my parents’ library with one of his baby compadres…and this was the other one:

"Whee! Look at all this paper! Who CARES what's inside?!"

And that was my weekend.

I'm still tired.

And now…I need something from you: a book recommendation. I just came off a memoir kick, so I’m looking for pretty much anything but that. Any suggestions?