#NOTORIOUSLY FINICKY PETS CROSSWORD MOVIE#

I don’t know when I will see my parents or my sisters again, and I still don’t know.

“The Cake,” she murmurs, tasting it from 2,000 miles away. I tell my mom I made The Cake and I can practically hear her eyes widen over the phone. I eat it on my birthday, which doesn’t matter but also does.

The cake is tall and heavy and sits, covered in foil, in my fridge. I make it all the way back in April and eat it directly off the plate. This is the first time I have eaten this cake alone. That’s what I think of when I eat this cake: the dozens of chaotic Jewish dinners I don’t realize are tightly guarded inside my heart until I eat this cake alone. “I DON’T LIKE COFFEE,” he yelled back, and we all told him that he was being absurd, and we laughed, and then we yelled about something else, and then, knowing my family, something probably came dangerously close to catching on fire. So we all sat down to eat and my dad took a few bites of the cake, clearly enjoying himself, and then someone spilled the beans and said “I can’t believe there’s coffee in this cake!” and he immediately put down his fork and refused to eat the rest. The first time I made this cake, my mom warned everyone that we couldn’t tell my father that there was coffee in the batter, because my dad is a notoriously picky eater who would rather fight a bear than eat a cake with coffee in it. The secret to this cake is a cup of hot coffee in the batter, Ina Garten whispers in her cookbook, which makes it moist and chocolatey without being so dense that you feel like you’re drowning in chocolate, Augustus Gloop-style. I try to make it for her birthday every year. My mother is a health enthusiast who cherishes Sweetgreen more than at least one of her children, but she loves this cake. This cake is personal to me because it’s my mom’s favorite dessert. We are stuck in this studio apartment together, and she hates my terrible opinions. She rolls her eyes and goes back to sleep. “Jeff Probst is a queer icon,” I smugly tell my cat, Meryl. The comfort food keeps my spirits high and gives me enough energy to mainline another 14 hours of Survivor, which is all I have right now. I see you with your Instagram stories of colorful salads and quinoa nests filled with whipped tahini and magical sesame birds, and I respond with appreciative emoji while I eat Doritos in the shower and wipe my fingers on a box of Girl Scout cookies. The cake I chose to make was Ina Garten’s Beatty’s Chocolate Cake, because times like these don’t call for anything but the best, most decadent chocolate cake. Luckily, like Julianne Moore, I have enough energy to make a cake.

#NOTORIOUSLY FINICKY PETS CROSSWORD MOVIE#

I hope you understand that I don’t have the energy right now to rewatch a movie where a man dying from AIDS throws himself out a window. I was 13 when The Hours was released, and I found it pleasantly overwrought then. The cake is a disaster the cake is a metaphor. She says, “I’m going to make a cake,” and she does. There’s a scene in The Hours where Julianne Moore, a closeted queer woman trapped in a 1950’s heteronormative suburban nightmare prison, takes stock of her life and decides to make a birthday cake for her husband. But by the end of March, my brain had collapsed into a slowly simmering stew of anxiety and despair – finally perfect, I thought, for an Hours-themed column. How cheeky! Past Allie probably typed that after a carefree evening of licking subway poles and open-mouth kissing strangers during happy hour. It turns out that when I first pitched some ideas for possible installments of this column all the way back in September (!), I added a few jokey ideas at the bottom of my list, including “baking a cake that may or may not be a thinly veiled metaphor for my own stability (based on The Hours)”. Here’s what I did for Lez Try It: I made a cake. I’ve spent the past four months writing goofy comedic sketches that have unexpectedly turned into Lovecraftian short stories and pitching lighthearted jokes that have made other people say “Hey, are you okay?” My emotional state is so fraught that Mitski has temporarily been taken out of rotation on my Spotify account. It is impossible to express how much I’m dreading trying to be funny during a pandemic that has left over 170,000 Americans dead. This month: making a cake that may or may not be a thinly veiled metaphor for one’s own stability, from the movie The Hours. Lez Try It is a column in which comedian and writer Allie Rubin picks one component of lesbian culture to try for herself.

The Autostraddle Encyclopedia of Lesbian Cinema.LGBTQ Television Guide: What To Watch Now.Alerts about missing people perhaps: Abbr.Singles who rotate to meet other singles.One may be settled in small-claims court.

Notoriously finicky pets crossword