Gimmeoxygen's Blog

January 26, 2010

Nietzsche Baked a Mean Cake!

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ruby Dabling @ 8:43 pm
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 1. Allow the angel to reach room temperature. Then kill it.

 2. Kill God. Set Him aside.

 3. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

4. Ecstatically whip, as if possessed by a storm-wind of freedom, 1-1/2 cups of excellent egg whites with 1/4 tsp. salt and 1-1/2 tsp. cream of tartar. Continue until peaks are as if raised to their own heights and given wings in a fine air, a robust air.

5. Gradually add 3/4 cup sugar, about 3 tbsp. at a time.

 6. You are brilliant.

7. Now, add 1 tsp. vanilla and 1/4 tsp. almond extract, and then sift together 1-1/4 cups flour and 3/4 cup sugar.

 8. Blend in God and the angel. Emboldened, add the egg mixture.

9. Gaze into the überbatter. The überbatter will gaze into you.

10. While prancing about in a frenzy of self-satisfaction and anticipation, use a rubber scraper to push the überbatter into an ungreased 10″ tube pan, for it is destined to be there.

11. Bake on a lower rack until done, usually 35-40 minutes, while reciting to the upper rack a long, convoluted anecdote about your childhood.

 12. Invert the tube pan over a bottle for a few hours. Then impetuously rap the pan. Shout, “Aha!” and slide a knife along the pan’s insides.

 13. Call what tumbles out a cake if you dare. Call it miraculous even.

14. Eat it. It is delicate, morbid, loveable, and you will die depressed, delirious, and overweight.


I didn’t  write this – though I wish I did.  If anyone knows the person who DID pen this gem, please let me know, and I’ll give him or her credit here…plus they’ll have a new fan!


Thanks to Hannah, I discovered the author of this piece is Rebecca Coffey.  Rebecca, you gave me a mile-wide smile when I first read this!


January 21, 2010

The Squeal in Aisle Three

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ruby Dabling @ 4:48 pm
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Yesterday, while I was grocery shopping, I sauntered down aisle three in search of honey not knowing the drama that would ensue from this act.  The honey I wanted wasn’t stocked.  There were two lonely bottles waaaaay at the back of the shelf, so I stuck my trusting, little paw in to claim one, and – when I did – a SPIDER ran over my hand, up my arm and into the sleeve of my coat.

I squealed.  I shrieked.  I was so busy screaming, “Oh!  Oh!  Oh!” while shaking my arm, peeling my coat off, and leaping up and down doing the Eek!  It’s a Spider! dance that I didn’t realize what was happening in front of me.

I don’t know what kind of a noise I made when the spider assaulted me.  It was shrill, and it was loud.  It was, in fact, startling enough to cause the woman in front of me to drop, and shatter, the jar of blueberry preserves she’d been holding.  A large chunk of the glass bounced up, and embedded itself deep into the calf of her leg.  She was shrieking and bleeding, I was shrieking and dancing…everyone else was, of course, staring.

Lady, I am sorry that you were hurt.  It’s obvious you needed a suture or two, and I feel terrible about that.  I wish I could have apologized on the spot, but, you see, it wasn’t my fault – you’ve got to blame the spider that attacked me.  I would have been more attentive to your distress, but I was preoccupied because I didn’t know where the spider went.  I wanted to strip down on the spot.  I was sure that it was, still, in my clothes.  This is why I was slapping myself and Oh, God!ing instead of paying attention to the small river of blood that was running down your leg into your gray suede pumps.  My fear of those eight-legged terrorists is greater than the need to observe social graces.  Besides, you were the one the store manager trundled off to be fussed-over and taken care of.  I was the one left to look like the neurotic geek I am – still slapping, still jiggling, still convinced I had a fat, juicy brown recluse lurking in my clothing (I live in fear of the brown recluse as  it is so common out here, and so many people I know have been bitten by the nasty, venomous things).

I, then, behaved in the mature manner one would expect of me.  I abandoned my cart, ran to my car, drove home like a bat out of hell, stripped my clothing off, and jumped into the shower…all the while Oh, God!ing like the maniac that I am.

Yeah, I’m a warrior, all right…  As long as we aren’t talking about spiders, I will kick ass.

Now, I have to go to the grocery store – I think I’ll go to a different one today where I’m not quite so fresh in the memory of any of the staff who saw me – and I will do my best to maintain a low profile…….

January 15, 2010

Can’t Avoid It

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ruby Dabling @ 7:14 pm
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Things have been going too well for me the past few days.  The sun has been shining, and it’s warm enough to go walking with just a sweater on.  My dog has been feeling well enough to be her old, perky self.  Nothing has broken or needed repairing around the house.  My friends haven’t been in crisis mode.  I’ve slept well. 

This only leads me to believe that I will be eaten by werewolves sometime this week.  There’s no avoiding it.  I’m doomed.  If you don’t hear from me ever again, I just thought you’d like to know why.

Is that howling I hear?

January 12, 2010

Free Labor?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ruby Dabling @ 8:02 pm
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Have you ever mentioned a problem or a project to someone, and they’ve taken it upon themselves to assume that problem or project?

Earlier in the week, I told Gloom I’d gotten the tile, and other materials, to lay down a new kitchen floor, but that the one thing I wasn’t able to buy at Home Depot was the energy to complete the task.

I wasn’t hinting.  I like home maintainance.  To date, I’ve replaced the garbage disposal; put new carpeting in my bedroom; replaced most of the windows; built three of my bookcases; renovated my kitchen cabinets; and did the hundred-and-one small chores that need to be done around the house.  I’ve made a LOT of mistakes, corrected them, and enjoyed learning as I’ve gone along.  I probably would have spent less money if I’d had professionals do the jobs as mistakes can be very expensive, but I discovered that I like doing these things for my home.  It makes me feel good to know I’m improving my nest.


Bright and (way too) early, Gloom and his brother, Belly (so named because he is thin as can be, but can devour amazing quantities of food), arrive at my house full of good intentions to tile my floor for me.  They were so enthusiastic, and so high on the idea of doing a Good Deed, that I couldn’t turn them away, so I let them turn a job that should have taken a day into three.

Three days of having to cook for them, and provide them with Sam Adams out of, you see, gratitude.  Three days of applying antiseptic and Band-Aids to boo-boos, and listening to Gloom cuss Belly out for being…well, Belly.  One of Bellys’ favorite ways to amuse himself is to maneuver himself into a strategic position, and fart in Glooms’ face.  This never failed to cause Belly to collapse on the floor in helpless laughter, and send Gloom into fits.  Twice, Gloom walked out on the job vowing never to return, and, once, he grabbed a tile knife and threatened to shove it up Bellys’ offending orifice – which resulted in a tussle that lasted until they knocked my cookie jar off the counter and smashed it.

Three days of listening to country music.

Three days of wiping pee off the bathroom floor since neither one of them, apparently, has good aim.

My ‘free’ labor seems to have costs me quite a bit.  The least of which is a painful jaw from grinding and gritting my teeth for three days.  From now on, home improvement projects will be treated with the same secrecy as is applied to the drafting of the health care bill none of us are allowed to see.  I have a few more things I want to do, but you’ll have to obtain clearance for me to tell you.

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