Cake or Death: WTF? Interlude

This next post can best be summed up as: Things That Make You Go, “Hmmmm?”

   But please, don’t let my bad taste in 90s club music defer you from scrolling through my annotated gallery of crazy cakes I came across while researching my Cake or Death posts. The following cakes were not applicable to any of my CoD rants, but the’yre hardly rejects. No, in my book, the following cakes are ALL winners, and if I refrained from showing them to you, it’d make me a bad blogger. I think you need to see these cakes.  Your life will never be the same, trust.

   In writing classes (of which I need many, many more, thx), I remember being told that you have to start your story or whatever with a “hook.” Something to draw the reader in. Because the “hook” brings you back, I ain’t telling you no lie. The “hook” brings you back, on that you can rely. (ka-POW! It’s the one-two punch of bad 90s music up in here! I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m just not) Anyway, I you’ll agree that the first cake up on the carving station more than qualifies as a hooker (and on several levels, in fact!):

There are no words. Really, there aren’t. About the only observation I can make at this point is that the cake is shaved. (*retch*)

Ugly Dress of the Week: Herpzilla Invades Korea

I found this weeks ugly dress while researching my Korean Wedding Customs post. I remember reading a while back that Paris Hilton had gone to Korea for god knows what, and now here’s the photo to prove it:

(Britney did it, too, and worse!)

   Now, I have no real problem with the dress itself. Hanbok dresses are quite lovely. It’s the Paris part, and the Pepto pink color, that qualifies this dress. You know what else? I don’t even know why celebs have to dress in traditional clothes when they visit foreign countries. I mean, it made sense for R&B singer Amerie to do it, since her mom is Korean (though there is no excuse for how ugly that dress was), but why do all these randos have to wear hanboks? If it were me, I’d feel super-weird, which is why I’m not gonna wear a wedding hanbok at my nups.

To help scrub the image of Herpzilla: International Skank of Mystery from your minds, here’s a gallery of Hanbok done right:

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart.

  

I had a curious epiphany on my way to work this morning. Fiona Apple came on my ipod (shut up, ok?), and, as I stated on this amazing and fabulous Jezebel thread, Fiona Apple is a key player in my breakup sountracks. And apparently, lots of other people’s, too, if you follow the thread. Apparently, the power Fiona has to plumb the depths of your inner abyss of self-indulgent, lonely, heatbroken, sadbastardness is universally recognized by the generation of people born under the signs of Gen-X and Gen-Y, respectively. But lately, when Her Waifiness pops up in the shuffle, I skip the song.

(Gawd, I’m about to sound like such a fangirl, but for serious, I really only like this chick’s music when I’m dumped and need the type of encouragment that can only come from such a truly, truly unhinged bitch.)

   Not long ago, when I listened to a Fiona song I’d almost always get a brick in my throat thinking about whatever douchecanoe I had split with most recently. Now that my Single Girl Angst had subsided, all the lustre has faded frm the Apple. I don’t sing along and beat the steering wheel and think about What WAS and What Could Have BEEN anymore. Which is great & all but… In truth, actually got a little nostalgic for the brand of heartache that, if all goes according to plan, I’ll never experience again. It has really, truly dawned on me that a chapter in my life is closing.

    Don’t worry, I’m not going to mourn my single days because I’ve not forgotten (and you all know this) that being single pretty much sucks. So, in the place of all the symphonic recollections of unrequited love, a new and different musical yanker-of-heart-strings has appeared:

(pack an airsickness bag, y’all, it’s about to get serious….)

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If That Ain’t Country…

    I’m not the only altar-bound woman at my place of business. Which is great, because if there’s anything in this world I don’t like, it’s too much attention. Besides, this chick’s wedding is a helluva lot more interesting than mine anyway (country wedding! Cowboy boots under the wedding dress! Leather & lace! I can’t wait!), so I’m flying super low under the radar at work. Yessss.

    As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I’m currently occupying nearly every hour of available free time in my life with wedding appointments. I have 5 appointments this week, each taking about 2 hours. So yeah, 10 hours of my time this week will be spent on the Wedding That’s Eating My Life. 10 hours is practically a job. Uh, or at least, that’s the amount of hours I used to get at Starbucks (“we guarantee 4 hours on your schedule, but if you want enough money to live on, it’s up to you to pick up open-then-close-then-open shifts that directly violate our employment policy. Smootches, sucker!” Srsly, do not get me started on working at Starbucks.) No working out for me, no leisurely walks with the dog, no time to prepare nice dinners, no showering (seriously, you don’t want to know). I’m really starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. I love Mr. Panda, he’s my best friend, and he makes me so happy. I just want to be married to him. That’s all I want, and yet here I am, sinking the GNP of a small country into this pretentious fucking party.

    Don’t mind me, I have good days where I’m soooo excited about my pretty dress, the thought of my man in a hot-ass suit, and the fact that I’ll be seeing all my relatives and old friends that I miss so much. But I also have bad days, too. This would be one of those. Anyway, back to the point of this post, the other bride at my office. Let’s call her “Fancy” (for no other reason then the fact that that Reba song is the hottest shit ever). Lately, I’ve been all “woe is me” about all the work I have to do for my wedding. Fancy’s wedding is in, like, 2 weeks and just the other day there was an exchange between Fancy and her mom (who also works here) that made me realize how good I’ve really got it:

Culture Clash Wedding: Korean Customs

   Hey guys, sorry I’ve not posted in a bit, but the wedding planning appointments have been piling up on me like yuppies at a Baskin Robbins free scoop night. And my Alaskan adventurer bridesmaid is in town, so I’m trying to make time to hang before she leaves me to go puke on the tundras and sleep with eskimos and shit.

(Yeah, you thought I was kidding. Look at all these freeloading-ass fools lining up for their complementary frosty treats. You wanna be like these people. You want free foods. You’re gonna crash my wedding for the free foods.)

   So, without futher ado, the conclusion to my epic 3-part series about my random-ass, culturally-confused wedding:

Culture Clash Wedding: Western Customs

Last post we explored the weird world of Cajun wedding customs. Now it’s time to tackle the nuptual rituals we should all be familiar with:

Exclusive! Breaking! Mariah Carey’s Wedding Dress!

Mariah Carey married Nick Cannon On Wednesday, and WE have the 1st pics of the blushing bride’s wedding dress. After the jump!

Cake or Death: Part II

Get ready to get OMFG SO EXCITED!

 

   It’s time to talk more about cake! And I’m PUMPED! Actually, I’m not pumped. I’m having a hard time finding a good photographer for my wedding, and I’m about to cry. Photographs are more or less the most important part of a wedding. Anyone who’s gotten married lately will tell you that the whole day is pretty much a blur, and were it not for the photographs, they’d forget everything.

   But whatever, the cake is SOOOOOO important, and I’m going to have to take time out of my life to meet with bakers and go to tastings and pay $700 for a mountain of sugar I’m not gonna eat and fuckety FUCK! Anyway, on with the goddamn show-stopping edible sculptures:

 

The Ernie K. Doe Factor

   Despite the teeny bit of mockery in my original Cake or Death post, let it be known: I love my mother-in-law. She is a lovely, sweet, big-hearted woman and did a wonderful job of raising the love of my life against many obstacles. HOWEVER, I am really, really morbidly fascinated with wicked mother-in-law stories. Love them. Eat them up with a spoon.

  If, like me, you love a good wicked witch tale, please check out this entry by Kadinsky over at Buttercup Punch. Also worth a once-over or two are the entries tagged My Mother-in-Law over at the Bewildered Housewife.

 

(This post, and any and all mother-in-law-related posts, will be dedicated to the late, great Ernie K. Doe. If you’re ever in New Orleans, please to visit the old stomping ground of the foremost Charity Hospital Baby: Ernie K. Doe’s Mother-in-Law Lounge.)

If any of you readers have crazy mother-in-law stories to share, they’re always welcome in the comments!

Culture Clash Wedding: Cajun Customs

   Part of the fun of having a Culture Clash wedding is the way everything seems to make sense in the minds of all the people involved, but on paper it looks completely insane.

 

       (Korean Wedding Dolls vs. Western Wedding Dolls)

   Here’s the basic breakdown: Korean American dude marries Creole/Cajun girl in a Western ceremony in a Chinese garden (NOT in Louisiana, that complicates things a bit, too). So, given the location, the wedding is sort of Asian themed with Creole untertones. We chose the place due to it’s central location in the city, because we had one of our 1st dates there, and because there’s already awesome landscaping and pretty pagodas and shit so we don’t have to decorate the location at all. But, my Cajun roots have to be incorporated somehow, and Mr. Panda is not Chinese, so there’s gonna be a whole slew of confusion all around.

   So, lemme break down the basic wedding traditions we plan on following from each culture. In this post, we’ll explore the traditions associated with my Lowcountry roots:

(after the jump!)