Category Archives: just plain silly

Actual phone call

Telemarketer: Hello, I am calling to talk to you about the wonderful benefits that solar panels can bring to your home…

Me, Voice as Dead as My Soul: It is blizzarding AGAIN here in Boston.

Telemarketer: I’ll call back some other time?

Me: Take us off of your list.  (Hangs up phone.  Trudges, once more, into the breach, to take up my shovel.  Some more.)

(I am not usually so abrupt with the telemarketing trade but THAT particular call…)

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You may call me the cream cheese assassin

Me:  (Smears cream cheese onto the back of the really good oatmeal cookies from work.  Hand one to Dad, keep one for me.)

Dad: (Eats one bite, eyeing cookie skeptically.  Chews.  Swallows.  Snarfs the rest.  Clears throat.)  Are you TRYING to kill me?  (Grabs for the tub of cream cheese.)

Dr. Strangeoven (or, how I learned to stop stressing and serve crooked cakes)…

I just baked a cake so ugly that I will never think of a “Yo’ Mama” joke ever again.

No, really. This thing is UGLY. I should have realized the endeavor was doomed when it was OOZING CHOCOLATE LAVA from one side of the pan while it baked, but I was lulled into a false sense of security by the smell of its chocolatey goodness wafting throughout the kitchen.  (Chocolate-cake-aroma-lulling, next on Geraldo.)  I mean, the recipe (Amanda Hesser’s Chocolate Dump-it Cake, from Cooking for Mr. Latte and the new New York Times Cookbook) said it might leak– but it didn’t say there’d be half the cake left on the drip pan when it was done.

Delicious half a cake lava spill, but still. HALF A CAKE. (Okay, maybe only a few tablespoons. But still. IT WAS A LOT at the time that I looked into the oven five minutes before the cake was supposed to be done and did the Homer Simpson Gasp of Horror because of the impending Great Chocolate Cake Flood of 2012 going on just behind the glass and steel door.) Thank goodness the bits of the fossilized lava are insanely moist and don’t even need frosting. Though a sprinkle of powdered sugar? That would be awesome.

Okay, okay. It can’t be that bad, you say.

Wanna bet?

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I’d say it’s the Derpy Hooves of chocolate cakes, but that would be paying this ugly thing too much of a compliment. Also, Derpy Hooves totally rocks.

I’m not going to blame it on the recipe, though, because did I mention the fossilized bits are delicious? I will blame it on my Dad’s weird-ass oven, because the gas heat fluctuates, hand-to-God, though not so badly that I’ve called the plumber despite how badly all my baking comes out since I’ve moved in. Either that, or, well…

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Nah. It has nothing to do with the circa 1920’s Alzheimer’s aluminum pan that I baked the thing in rather than spend two hours looking for my perfectly useful, perfectly awesome silicone tube pan out of one of my 90 boxes in the basement. (The boxes are labeled. I swear. There are just a lot of them.)

Why on earth would a crooked pan make a crooked, lava-drooling cake? YOU SO CRAZY, YOU LOGICAL INTERNET, YOU.

Yeah. Next time, I’ll go pan-spelunking downstairs. That doesn’t mean I’m not still serving Chocolate Derp-it Cake with the recommended chocolate sour cream frosting, since too much frosting is never enough and hides an excess of sins behind its two-ingredient goodness.

Did I mention the lava drool is delicious?