All in all, it was a very nice wedding. Roommate's mother and new stepfather are blissfully happy. Nothing terrible happened. Roommate's grandmother and dear friend Hope stayed with us after the wedding through Christmas. I have no real reason to complain.
This, however, has never stopped me before.
I do have pictures, taken by Roommate, of the cakes I baked for the wedding, but right now, technology is outwitting me. Again. I know. I promise, I will post them later. Yes, I will. I won't forget! Look, you're being unreasonable. My friend Matt refers to me as a Mennonite in regards to my techno-blundering and I think that warrants a little slack in this department.
I'm not actually Mennonite, you know. The Mennonites are better dressed than I am.
Moving on.Roommate kept saying "we" were doing the baking, but the majority of her help was through emotional support. I have no idea why she does this. She wants me to bake/cook something, inevitably I end up making it later in the evening/into the wee hours, and she stays awake [mostly] as long as she can, just...milling about. Why? Why does she do this? Just go to bed. I can do this all by myself. I'm big now.
She did go to bed. Finally. And I continued to bake cupcakes.
I went to bed around 0300 the morning of the wedding after making 108 cupcakes and a Madeira cake. Btw, Roommate refers to this as "Mederma Cake."
I did a double layer Madeira cake, coated in chocolate ganache and then covered with triple cream frosting. Yes, it was a heart attack with a cake topper, all right. The cupcakes were the required vanilla and chocolate. I topped the vanilla with the same triple cream frosting [tinted purple] and sprinkled with edible glitter [giggle---ahem] and the chocolate with the frosting infused with the chocolate ganache.
I frosted the cupcakes on site because unfrosted cupcakes travel better than frosted ones. No, really. Imagine boxes of frosted cupcakes, stacked in Volvo. Imagine Volvo coming to a screeching halt because of unpleasant driving habits of others. Imagine frosted cupcakes, slamming to Volvo's floor. It really is just better to frost upon arrival.
It is. But this is where it got...interesting.
The caterers for the blessed event had arrived a bit before I did and had turned on the oven in the tiny kitchen area. To 500 degrees. They placed foil-wrapped packets of meat into said oven and promptly departed. One assumes it was to gather more of the meal to bring to the wedding venue, but frankly, they could've gone for pedicures, for all I know. The foil-wrapped packets of meat proceeded to leak juicy goodness onto the oven's heating element, set to 500 degrees, producing billowing waves of smoke and...
Oh, go ahead. Guess.
That's right!! Setting off all the fire alarms in the building.
By the time the smoke had been cleared and the building aired out, my chocolate ganache was a trifle hardened. Beating it into the triple cream frosting made a chocolate-chip type effect. That, along with all the other delightful occurrences to numerous to recount here and now, resulted in my heaving frosting on the cupcakes less than forty-five minutes before the ceremony. When Roommate's Unfortunate Sister strolled into the reception area, she was greeted by the sight of me and the KitchenAid, frantically beating frosting and ganache. Her beady little eyes widened and she said in shocked tones, "You're just making the icing now?"
It is only the love of Roommate's mother and Roommate that saved this hideous cow's life.
Let us remember, dearest, that this is the person who informed her mother that she wanted nothing to do with the execution of the wedding; she merely wanted to attend as a guest. This is the person who, after her car was struck by another vehicle, leaving NO INJURIES and a still-driveable car, informed her mother in wilting and deeply dramatic tones, that she didn't know if she would make it the following day to her mother's wedding. This is the person who was blessed with two perfectly healthy children, and couldn't be bothered to actually raise them, really only involving herself enough to screw them up profoundly, thus resulting in the waste of salt that makes up her now-adult offspring.
Yes, I know the last part has nothing to do with the wedding day, but it still pisses me off.
Anyway. Another person, the grandmother of the flower girl, was helping place the sloppily-frosted cupcakes on the cake table after Roommate's Unfortunate Sister sauntered off to be utterly useless elsewhere. She [flower girl's gramma] kept telling me to go and get dressed for the wedding. I told her, sweetly, that it would take me three minutes to dress and be ready. I told her that again, when she pestered me again to leave and ready myself.
Have I mentioned my love for Roommate's mother?
I can attest, rather proudly, that no one died by my hand that day. I can also tell you that no cupcakes returned to my home. And I may have overstated my three-minute personal prep prediction.
It took 2.5 minutes. I even had time to help Roommate with a touch of makeup.
Roommate's mother is married and delighted with life. Cakes were eaten and enjoyed. Everyone survived to bitch and moan.
Now. Never ask me to do this again.