PlazaJen: Passion Knit

We were both wayyy lazy this morning, I think I hit the snooze at LEAST three times, and then neither of us lept up into action. James told me I did quite a bit of talking in my sleep, which always fascinates me. Apparently I had one full, complete sentence that was understandable, and that was, "I'm going to take myself out now." Which struck me as odd, until I remembered Part One of what I was dreaming, and that was that we were visiting my mother, and she was being nice at first but then she went into her predictable I-hate-you-because-you-are-fat-so-I-will-weep-and-beg-you-to-have-your-stomach-stapled persona. Oh, yeah. She's a peach! And while this seems rather dreadful to you, and don't get me wrong, it is dreadful, but it's more like a worn patch of rug to me anymore, it's just part of the decor in House O Jen, I was just SO PLEASED. Because obviously, I was exercising GOOD JUDGEMENT and removing myself from a toxic situation, even in my dreams. Huzzah for moi!

Now, this is where it gets even wonkier, and slightly NC-17. Before I go there, let me just say that at about the age of ten, my father looked at me one morning whilst I was in an excited recount of my dreams from the night before, and said, "Jennifer. Nobody wants to hear your dreams. The only person who finds your dreams interesting is YOU." Good lord, my daddy could be a harsh bastard man sometimes, but every time I think of him telling me that I LAUGH because it was one of those arenas where he never fully succeeded in stopping me. Ha! I don't care! And now you've given me information on how to torture you!

So, back to my dream, I'm not sure why, but I know what the source was, it was that damned current issue of Martha Stewart Living that arrived yesterday. Martha's out and already giving me unattainable home projects, and let me just tell you I would love nothing more than to make these cakes, but I don't want to burn two weeks of vacation time to do it. OH bother I can't find a picture. Anyway, if you see the April issue, grab it and flip through it - you'll see a lamb cake, fashioned from using a lamb cake pan mold, and then covered completely with white chocolate curls. Making the chocolate curls alone would take three days. And then there's a bunny, covered with mini-marshmallows, with chocolate-espresso-bean eyes and yellow licorice whiskers and cotton candy ears. And an amazing chicken you frost with skills that take a month at the Culinary Institute to learn, complete with little coconut-covered chicks. Every one of 'em's adorable and would take at least 47 hours to make.

Resuming the dream, and cover the children's eyes, because for some reason (perhaps my gay friend's bachelor party I need to help organize?) I needed to make penis-shaped cakes. And I had to find a mold, but I couldn't go to a cake store, I had to shop at this other store, where they had a wide variety of scuba diving and other water-stuff equipment. Most of which was stuff I didn't recognize, but I was hell-bent on finding these molds for my dickcakes. And half of what I found was NOT GONNA WORK. It was basically a frustrating shopping experience, but I think I did find something to use, and I've tortured you long enough with reading about my dreams.

Who knows? Maybe I'll be surprised next month, when I get the Merry May Issue of Martha Stewart Living, and they'll have a whole how-to on Crafting the Perfect Penis-Shaped Cake For That Special Gay Man-Bride.