Category Archives: My Self

How to make a Fail Cake

Once upon a time, I tried really really hard to make a special cake for a special person. This is pretty much how it went down.

How to make a Fail Cake

  1. Don’t read the recipe.
  2. Hurry.
  3. Mix in extra things because you want to be creative and exciting.
  4. Underbake, then return cake to oven, increase heat, and overbake.
  5. Fill and stack cake layers while cake is warm.
  6. Watch cake lean like the Tower of Pisa while you try to decorate it.
  7. Get lots of crumbs in the frosting.
  8. Realize there’s not enough frosting.
  9. Try to make up for lack of frosting by adding jelly beans.
  10. Arrange jelly beans to make an attractive flower, then take a step back and notice it looks like Willy Wonka threw up on your cake.

Company has arrived and it’s time to bring out the glorious cake!

What are you gonna do?

A. Serve it with pride and a stiff cocktail.

B. Dump it in the trash, then hide and have a nice long cry.

C: Frame the dog.

I can haz cake? Iz not trapz? photo by Denzil~

How to frame the dog:

  1. Place Fail Cake on the floor, call the dog and quietly encourage him to eat the cake (even if you have to frost it with dog food).
  2. Appear in front of guests with expression of utter disbelief and exclaim “Oh no! My beautiful cake!” while gesturing at the unwittingly guilty dog.

NOTE: This option seldom works with cats, but might work with a small child or husband if a dog is unavailable.

flickr creative commons

Country Roads

Driving down a country road a few hours after the thunderclouds hit the mountains and busted wide open. The thirsty soil had already soaked up the sudden downpour, but the air was heavy and thick, and no longer hot. Make the left-hand hairpin turn off the main highway, and drive all the way to the gravel road. The car slows to a near crawl and decends into the lush green depths of a riverine forest. The air temperature drops ten degrees within the next fivehundred feet, and light reaches the ground in dappled patches. It smells sweet, and all the windows are down so me and the dog can hang our heads out the window.


Country Road by futureshape

Turn toward the mountain after you cross the bridge. The road narrows and winds through a meadow until you get to the cattle guards. Daddy pulls over and we go for a walk down to the creek. A little river, really, with big white rocks to hop on and a place to wade with the minnows and crawdads. A cluster of black and white cows wanders the birch trees, stamping and swishing at flies as they graze alongside the water. The big one is watching my dog. My dog is watching him, too. There’s a barbwire fence between us and him, so I’m not afraid. Insects and birds hum and sing in the trees and tall grass. The sun has peeked through the clouds, warming the earth and reminding me the summer is not gone.

Daddy whistles for me, and I take off running. We load up in the car and head back to the main road, stopping at Red’s Fill-Em Up to get chewing tobacco and malted milk balls. If church hadn’t gotten out yet, he’d still have fried chicken and taters. We loved Red’s chicken, and so did the rest of the county. Best to pick up some while we could; Mommie Dearest might be cookin’ tonight.

Flickr Creative Commons

A cup of Canadian Comfort.

Canadian ComfortNo, this post is not about soup. It’s about booze. It’s rainy and grey today, typical weather in the Pacific Northwest. One of my cats isn’t eating. I’ve offered him everything, pretty much any time he acts the least bit hungry. He doesn’t even want his Greenies, and those are pretty much Kitty Crack Treats. It’s making me fret.

Mr. B has been with me for almost 11 years, and he’s starting to feel his age. He moves a little slower, and he’s not as bulky as he used to be, and he’s kinda cranky sometimes. His kidneys aren’t 100%, but he’s doing alright with supplements and a lower protien diet. Unfortunately, if he doesn’t eat, he won’t get his supplements. I’ve had him on fluids for several days, as he wasn’t drinking much either. He seems perky enough, and definitely interested in the idea of food, but other than a few licks of the gravy from his favourite Friskies kitty junk food, he just doesn’t care.

Mr. B on the fuzzy blankey.

Mr. B on the fuzzy blankey.

His regular vet is excruciatingly expensive, and I’m not convinced they are giving him the kind of care that best suits him (and me). I’m picky about vets because I spent 8 years working as a tech. The place he goes now, they have five doctors, a big staff, night nurses, on-site blood analysis, an excellent surgical facility, and all the bells and whistles a modern vet needs. They are friendly and intelligent folks who genuinely care about animals. I even did some volunteer work with them for a while. It’s the little things, like not bothering to look in his mouth or palpate his abdomen, that bother me . . . and the bland attitude of their receptionist . . . and the tendency to jump on procedures and tests before they get the whole story. Okay, maybe it’s added up to a bit of annoyance for me.

Point is, I decided to try a holistic vet who makes housecalls. I doubt there will be a difference in cost, really, but I’m looking for a difference in service. I think Mr. B needs to be evaluated from a new perspective. For that matter, so do I. My neck is killing me (note to self: stop slouching!).

At any rate, it’s been one of those kinda days. So, I offer unto those that need it, a healthy dose of Canadian Comfort: 1 shot of Canadian whiskey, 1 shot of Bailey’s Irish Cream, and three shots of chocky moo (otherwise known as chocolate milk). I think I’ll wash mine down with a Guinness cupcake.