So I made oatmeal bread, and while it wasn't a bad recipe -- actually, it was really tasty for peanut butter sandwiches -- it was a bit on the wet side, and it took a while to cook. And the longer something takes to bake, the more likely my oven is to not like it. You see, my oven is a raving bitch with multiple personalities. No, I'm not being dramatic, but describing my oven this way is quite entertaining. And I need something to grin about with that blasted thing.
It has hot spots, cold spots, possessed spots; it goes from 25 degrees too cold to 50 degrees too hot in less than twenty minutes; it has randomly turned itself off a few times in my years with it, which number just under three. I affectionately call it The Beast in my head, because honestly, what else do you call a machine that works when it wants to and flips you off when it doesn't? That burns your cookies and leaves your bread prettily browned on the outside and raw in the middle.
Ideally, I'd call it "gone." But I live in an apartment complex that doesn't believe in replacing appliances unless they plain just don't turn on. They keep "fixing" our crap, and we keep calling when it breaks again. Incidentally, I've gotten to know most of the maintenance guys pretty well. Nice guys. But anyway. I was a doof and didn't take the bread's temp until I'd already turned the oven off and done a couple other little things in the kitchen, so I had to wait to put the loaf back in, and I'm not sure that's good for it. It ended up still having patches of undercooked -- though thankfully not raw -- dough. It was mostly tasty, though.
And hey, I baked! Go me! *happy dance*