Category Archives: DoYoReHoBloMo

A History of Cake

shakespeare

The first mention of cake appears in a Shakespearean sonnet in 1592.

Shall I compare thee to a summer cake?

Thou art more lovely and more decadent.

In 1755, the Earl of Earlingstone-Hamshire-Winthropp (nicknamed β€œThe Earl of Earl,” for obvious reasons), on the eve of his 100th birthday, received a lovely layered dessert made of boozy pound cake, whipped cream, and sweet brandied plums. Baked by Mrs. Eleanor Peavey, longtime cook of the Earl and his family, it was cake‘s first public appearance in 150 years. The centenarian clapped his hands in surprise, knocking over a candelabra; within seconds, the brandied plums burst into flames over six feet tall, overtaking The Earl of Earl before engulfing the room completely. Everyone at the residence perished that night.

Two cake traditions from that tragic evening continue to this day:

1. Providing flame-retardant sweets for every special occasion.

2. Adding candles to birthday cake to raise awareness for the aristocracy.

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Love, Lucifer

fbjustin

Justin’s brain is legend.

My sweet husband turns 35 today, meaning he has five years, tops, before I trade him in for a younger model and an overpriced penis car that goes vroom.

If you had told me 15 years ago that I’d be in a happy second marriage with a younger man, some bright day in the future, I would have bitterly laughed in your face and then lit another cigarette. Up to that point, all I knew of marriage was that to the wrong person, it could be hard and explosive and soul-crushing and sometimes very scary. I had never felt more alone than I did when I was married. Internally, I was suicidal most of the time; externally, angry and defiant. I could not remember what happiness actually felt like for a long, long time; we just brought out the worst in each other, two fighters with different agendas. Even our marriage counselor told me to throw in the towel, but we held on for another 18 months. It was quite telling that our best and most mature conversation was when we decided to divorce. No yelling, no threats. Just…reality. Here we are, and it’s not good for anyone. We have to save ourselves from each other. Reality felt so good, the weight lifting from my shoulders so abruptly that it took my breath away. Then the fear came. And the logistics. And friendship triage. And stupid mistakes. And learning. Fuuuuh. So much goddamn learning.

I met Justin during what should have been a classic rebound phase. After my husband moved back to the Midwest, I spent the summer getting in trouble and kind of dating and smoking too much and making new best friends on Seattle dancefloors I barely remembered the next day. One of those summers.

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The Glad Game Is Hard AF

pollyanna

You know when you’re like I’M GONNA DO THIS DIFFICULT THINGΒ and people are all YEAH YEAH GOOD LUCK WITH THAT which makes you fortify your resolve TO DO THE DIFFICULT THING ANYWAY because LIFE IS PRECIOUS, YOU ASSHOLES ET CETERA and then you attempt it and realize you’d rather pour hot worm juice all over your naked body in the middle of Times Square than attempt something that challenging again?

Welcome to The Glad Game.

Pollyanna was an enthusiastic brat to the point where you wanted to break her legs, but at the end of the movie, she loses the ability to use those legs, so it kind of evens out. Trying to embody the same leg-breaking enthusiasm has proven more difficult than I thought, but! here are some good things that have come from this infernal election:

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When Your House Is On Fire

americasidoomed

Everyone will have words today. You know it, I know it. Loud, angry, panicked, heartbreaking words of disbelief; triumphant, jeering, chaotic voices of hatred but also hope.

Today, these are the words I need to set free from the brown female body I live in soΒ  I can move forward and turn the fear running through my body like electricity into action:

I’m going full-on Pollyanna.

If I have to play the fucking Glad Game to remind myself of what’s good in the world every goddamn day, well that’s what I’m gonna do. No complaining about the election (unless I have a really great joke) – not in public, anyway – no moping around, waiting for the worst to happen to this brown, female body. If shit goes down in this country – which is really the only direction it can go now – I have to be ready to spring into action and push the pendulum in the other direction. I can’t be one of those people who loses and then spends the next four years alienating everyone with my insufferable ire. In two years, campaigning for re-election begins, meaning we have work to do.

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