Oomph Quotes

Over my dead body, I thought. Yes, even immortals use that phrase. It has extra oomph for us.

Keefe marched through the doors to the Healing Center and declared, “Wow, it’s like walking into a cloud of sulk in here.” He fanned the air away from his face as he made his way over. “I mean, I figured you be feeling a little lost about your Cognate buddy, but trust me: Fitzy isn’t worth this much angst.” ”I’m not pouting about Fitz, “Sophie informed him. “Ah, so you admit you are pouting? “He countered, plopping on to the side of her cot with enough oomph to make the mattress bounce.

Do the things you used to talk about doing but never did. Know when to let go and when to hold on tight. Stop rushing. Don't be intimidated to say it like it is. Stop apologizing all the time. Learn to say no, so your yes has some oomph. Spend time with the friends who lift you up, and cut loose the ones who bring you down. Stop giving your power away. Be more concerned with being interested than being interesting. Be old enough to appreciate your freedom, and young enough to enjoy it. Finally know who you are.

I assume you have a reason for manhandling my mate?” Cool words but his amusement was apparent. “Riley likes Mercy,” she stage-whispered, trying to twist around to look at her mate. “But she told him that h—oomph.” Riley set her on her feet without warning. She swayed, but Judd's hands on her hips kept her upright. Pushing her hair off her face, she leaned into her sexy Psy mate and smirked at Riley. “Sooo...” “Judd.” Riley ignored her. “You're obviously not interesting enough for my sister—she's got way too much time to poke her nose into other people's business.” Judd wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin on her hair. “I'm more interested in you and Mercy.

Akshay is charming and stylish minus the oomph quotient. He is sexy and good looking, minus the killer instinct. He was good at teamwork and presentations, minus the fire in the belly kind of guy.

This looks good." "That's Metamucil," Bricker said with disgust, snatching it from her hand. "So?" She turned to scowl at him. "What's wrong with Metamucil?" "It's--" He glanced at the container and read, "A dietary supplement." "That sounds healthy," she said, trying to grab it back. "Eshe," he said, his disgust giving way to amusement. "It's what old mortals take to get regular." "To get regular what?" she asked, and then poked him in the stomach, hard. The moment Bricker bent over with an "oomph," she snatched the container back and repeated, "Regular what?" "Crap," he gasped, clutching his stomach. "I didn't hit you that hard," she said with some disgust of her own. "No." He sighed, straightening. "I meant that's what they get regulated. Crap." Eshe dropped the can in dismay. "They buy crap?

If/when I die, do not want Pam lonely. Want her to remarry, have full life. As long as new husband is nice guy. Gentle guy. Religious guy. Very caring + good to kids. But kids not fooled. Kids prefer dead dad (i.e., me) to religious guy. Pale, boring, religious guy, with no oomph, who wears weird sweaters and is always a little sad, due to, cannot get boner, due to physical ailment. Ha ha. Death very much on my mind tonight, future reader. Can it be true? That I will die? That Pam, kids will die? Is awful. Why were we put here, so inclined to love, when end of our story = death? That harsh. That cruel. Do not like. Note to self: try harder, in all things, to be better person.

Protestantism has been that it gave a self-righteous oomph to moneymaking and capitalism—hard work accrues to God’s glory, success looks like a sign of His grace. But it seems clear to me the deeper, broader, and more enduring influence of American Protestantism was the permission it gave to dream up new supernatural or otherwise untrue understandings of reality and believe them with passionate certainty.

If someone were to propose that the planets go around the sun because all planet matter has a kind of tendency for movement, a kind of motility, let us call it an ‘oomph,’ this theory could explain a number of other phenomena as well. So this is a good theory, is it not? No. It is nowhere near as good as the proposition that the planets move around the sun under the influence of a central force which varies exactly inversely as the square of the distance from the center. The second theory is better because it is so specific; it is so obviously unlikely to be the result of chance. It is so definite that the barest error in the movement can show that it is wrong; but the planets could wobble all over the place, and, according to the first theory, you could say, ‘Well, that is the funny behavior of the ‘oomph.

Well, sir, I think it's just as well that they are being phased out of the war effort, and that we are now going to detonate the supernova bomb. In the very short time since we were released from the time envelope-' 'Get to the point' 'The robots aren't enjoying it, sir.' 'what' 'The war sir, it seems to be getting them down there's a certain world-weariness.' 'Well, that's all right, they're meant to be helping to destroy it.' 'yes, well they're finding it difficult, sir. They are afflicted with a certain lassitude. They're just finding it hard to get behind the job. They lack oomph.' 'What are you trying to say?' 'Well, I think they're very depressed about something, sir.' 'What on Krikkit are you talking about?' 'Well, in a few skirmishes they've recently, it seems that they go into battle, raise their weapons to fire and suddenly think, why bother? What, cosmically speaking, is it all about? And they just seem to get a little tired and a little grim.' 'And then what do they do?' 'Er, quadratic equations mostly, sir. Fiendishly difficult ones by all accounts. And then they sulk.' 'Sulk?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Whoever heard of a robot sulking?' 'I don't know, sir.

- You know I don't like Limp Bizkit. I prefer good old rock: Beatles, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Grand Funk Railroad. OOMPH! and In Extremo, at the very least. - Oh, come on. If everyone were like you we'd still be apes. Why do you hate new things?

"It's me," whispered a familiar voice. "Der—" Thwack. He stumbled, Liz behind him, a sturdy branch raised. "Liz, it's—" She hit him again, a home-run swing between the shoulders, and he went down with an oomph and an oath. She recognized the voice—or the curse—and leaned over, getting a look at him. (Liz) "Whoops." (Simon) "I'd say he deserved that, always sneaking up on people."

Kieran grinned. "You look good when you're angry. Now say the pitchfork line again with more oomph.

There is something that I’ll need to discuss with you if you agree to marry me, but it isn’t that I’m terminally ill. I’m not ill at all.” “You want to marry me?” Terri asked with pleasure. Bastien rolled his eyes. “Terri, honey. I just flew two thousand three hundred miles chasing after you. It wasn’t to ask you on a date.” “Oh, Bastien!” She launched herself off the couch. Bastien caught her with an, “oomph,” then found his face peppered with little butterfly kisses.

He moved in silence, only that creak-creak-creak following him across the room, and then the oomph as he ran into the dresser, the eek of the metal lantern rocking, almost tipping, then humphing back into place, followed by the shhhh of tapers rolling of the table. “Bugger,” muttered Ned.

He has broken the bonds that held us back. He has set us free. He has given us life. He has given us the empowering Spirit. So run! Make a break for it. Pursue Him and Him alone, with force, oomph, and passion. Why? To know Him. What stirs your affections for Jesus? What robs you of those affections for Christ? Answering those two questions is serious business, and there is joy to be had once you answer them!

He waited until she’d leaned over enough to see the floor, then stepped forward and thrust his arms, launching Ro higher. “See? It’s all about the foot energy.” “Foot . . . energy . . . ,” Sophie repeated. “Yep! Alvar called it ‘full body momentum,’ but that’s boring and confusing because all it means is: You want some extra oomph, move your feet. See?” He shifted his weight onto his other foot at the same time he waved his hands forward, and Ro shot backward, nearly crashing into the wall.

Schopenhauer’s framing kicked the problem of consciousness onto a much larger playing field. The mind, with all of its rational processes, is all very well but the “will,” the thing that gives us our “oomph,” is the key: “The will … again fills the consciousness through wishes, emotions, passions, and cares.”14 Today, the subconscious rumblings of the “will” are still unplumbed; only a few inroads have been made. As I write these words, enthusiasts for the artificial intelligence (AI) agenda, the goal of programming machines to think like humans, have completely avoided and ignored this aspect of mental life. That is why Yale’s David Gelernter, one of the leading computer scientists in the world, says the AI agenda will always fall short, explaining, “As it now exists, the field of AI doesn’t have anything that speaks to emotions and the physical body, so they just refuse to talk about it.” He asserts that the human mind includes feelings, along with data and thoughts, and each particular mind is a product of a particular person’s experiences, emotions, and memories hashed and rehashed over a lifetime: “The mind is in a particular body, and consciousness is the work of the whole body.” Putting it in computer lingo, he declares, “I can run an app on any device, but can I run someone else’s mind on your brain? Obviously not.”15

I needed a story. Something local, but juicy. And more than just newsworthy. I was holding out for gasp-worthy. And I found it. Or rather, it found me. Yup, your humble J-school grad was pretty much handed a tale that had it all: sex and drugs (not the regular kinds), multiple deaths (untimely, natch), rich folks and rituals and loads o' lawsuits- even a celebrity cherry on top. My newbie journo peers might be settling for three inches of coyotes in the subway, some spry centenarian's weightlifting regime or a bucket of campylobacter in the church supper salad, but I was planning to debut large and with oomph. The story was mine. I just had to figure out how to tell it.

Flavors are much more intense for people these days, so some of the old recipes don't stand up the way they used to. Think about what people are eating now, all kinds of hot sauces and spicy foods. Intensely spiced global cuisines. Bitter kale instead of buttery spinach, funky goat cheese instead of mild cheddar." He tilts his head at me, pondering. "So what you are saying is that because people are much more exposed to these things, the original recipes taste different to them?" "Exactly! Sriracha is as common as ketchup in most houses these days, so people's palates are used to more oomph in their flavors. Think about how it all used to be basic caramel, and now salted caramel is everywhere! When I was a kid it was all about milk chocolate, and now the darker and more intense the better.

And as I caught Louie with an “oomph” that knocked half the wind out of me, I accepted that I’d go through everything with Christy all over again if I had a homecoming like this from my boy. “I missed you, Buttercup,” Louie practically screamed into my ear as his arms went around my neck and he hugged the little bit of breath I had left right out of me. “I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.” “I missed you too, poo-poo face,” I said kissing his cheeks. “Oh my God, what have you been doing? Are you planning on hibernating for winter? You weigh like ten pounds more than you did before I left.” Just like when he was a baby, Louie reeled back, smacked his hands—which I was 99 percent sure were dirty—on my cheeks, and jiggled them as he leaned close enough to touch the tip of his nose to mine. “Grandma gave me a lot of pizza and chicken nuggets.

He stepped around the island and toward the cabinet, which would have been way too high over her head for her to reach anything anyway. It was a dumb place to put everyday glassware in his opinion. She moved in the same direction he did, and they crashed against each other hard enough to knock his breath out of him with an oomph. He reached out to steady her. "I'm sorr---" Becca never quite finished the word. Her eyes went soft as they gazed into his, and Tuck found his hands were no longer safely on her arms but now down holding on to her hips. Those round, beautiful hips he'd held on to for dear life while plunging into her in the hotel. Tuck swallowed hard and found it hard to breathe. The situation only got worse when she took a single step closer, putting her dangerously near the rising erection in his jeans. He drew in a deep breath, which filled him against with her scent. It was all too much. There was no fighting this attraction. Tuck dipped his head low and claimed Becca's mouth with his own.

How goes the investigation into Lady Lynden?" Hughe asked. "We saw her yesterday in the village." "She saw you too," Orlando said. "She thought your hat was ridiculous by the way." She'd said no such thing, but Orlando knew the sort of hat Hughe usually wore when he was playing the part of the fop and they were always elaborate and impractical. "That was my best hat." "She's very beautiful," Cole said, unexpectedly. He never noticed beautiful things, not even women. Or if he did, he never commented. For him to say Susanna was a beauty meant he'd certainly noticed. "So?" Orlando snapped. "So I was expecting a murderess to look more...bitter. Shrew-ish." Orlando's head began to pound inside his skull. "Perhaps she's not a murderess then," he heard himself say. "If she isn't," Hughe said lightly, "I wonder if she'd agree to become the next Lady Oxley. I wouldn't mind that slender body wrapped around my-" He slammed back into a tree trunk and his muttered oomph echoed through the woods. Orlando shook out his hand. It hurt, but it felt bloody good shutting Hughe up. It wasn't often he caught him unawares like that. "I win," Cole said. Hughe rubbed his jaw and grunted. "That wasn't a wager I wanted to lose." -Hughe, Orlando and Cole. (The Charmer)

Starting with the chocolate version, I swap out some of the cocoa powder with melted bittersweet chocolate and add some sour cream for balance and moistness, as well as some instant espresso powder, my secret ingredient for anything chocolate, which doesn't so much make something taste like coffee, but rather just makes chocolate taste more chocolaty. While the chocolate cupcakes are baking, I turn my attention to the vanilla recipe, adding some vanilla bean paste to amp up the vanilla flavor and show off those awesome little black-speck vanilla seeds, and mixing some buttermilk into the batter to prevent it from being overly sweet and unbalanced. The banana version uses very ripe bananas that I've been stashing in the freezer, as well as a single slice of fresh banana that has been coated in caramel and is pushed halfway into each cup of batter for a surprise in the middle of the cupcakes. Herman's frostings are close to the frostings of my youth, simple faux buttercreams made with softened butter and confectioners' sugar. Nothing fancy. In my newer versions, the chocolate gets melted chocolate and chocolate milk mixed in, the vanilla gets more vanilla bean paste and a tiny hit of lemon zest, and the peanut butter gets a blend of butter and cream cheese for some tang.

How Google Works (Schmidt, Eric) - Your Highlight on Location 3124-3150 | Added on Sunday, April 5, 2015 10:35:40 AM In late 1999, John Doerr gave a presentation at Google that changed the company, because it created a simple tool that let the founders institutionalize their “think big” ethos. John sat on our board, and his firm, Kleiner Perkins, had recently invested in the company. The topic was a form of management by objectives called OKRs (to which we referred in the previous chapter), which John had learned from former Intel CEO Andy Grove.173 There are several characteristics that set OKRs apart from their typical underpromise-and-overdeliver corporate-objective brethren. First, a good OKR marries the big-picture objective with a highly measurable key result. It’s easy to set some amorphous strategic goal (make usability better … improve team morale … get in better shape) as an objective and then, at quarter end, declare victory. But when the strategic goal is measured against a concrete goal (increase usage of features by X percent … raise employee satisfaction scores by Y percent … run a half marathon in under two hours), then things get interesting. For example, one of our platform team’s recent OKRs was to have “new WW systems serving significant traffic for XX large services with latency < YY microseconds @ ZZ% on Jupiter.”174 (Jupiter is a code name, not the location of Google’s newest data center.) There is no ambiguity with this OKR; it is very easy to measure whether or not it is accomplished. Other OKRs will call for rolling out a product across a specific number of countries, or set objectives for usage (e.g., one of the Google+ team’s recent OKRs was about the daily number of messages users would post in hangouts) or performance (e.g., median watch latency on YouTube videos). Second—and here is where thinking big comes in—a good OKR should be a stretch to achieve, and hitting 100 percent on all OKRs should be practically unattainable. If your OKRs are all green, you aren’t setting them high enough. The best OKRs are aggressive, but realistic. Under this strange arithmetic, a score of 70 percent on a well-constructed OKR is often better than 100 percent on a lesser one. Third, most everyone does them. Remember, you need everyone thinking in your venture, regardless of their position. Fourth, they are scored, but this scoring isn’t used for anything and isn’t even tracked. This lets people judge their performance honestly. Fifth, OKRs are not comprehensive; they are reserved for areas that need special focus and objectives that won’t be reached without some extra oomph. Business-as-usual stuff doesn’t need OKRs. As your venture grows, the most important OKRs shift from individuals to teams. In a small company, an individual can achieve incredible things on her own, but as the company grows it becomes harder to accomplish stretch goals without teammates. This doesn’t mean that individuals should stop doing OKRs, but rather that team OKRs become the more important means to maintain focus on the big tasks. And there’s one final benefit of an OKR-driven culture: It helps keep people from chasing competitors. Competitors are everywhere in the Internet Century, and chasing them (as we noted earlier) is the fastest path to mediocrity. If employees are focused on a well-conceived set of OKRs, then this isn’t a problem. They know where they need to go and don’t have time to worry about the competition. ==========

If you want to feel more energized, creative, and effective at work—and still leave work with enough oomph for the “life” part—the ideal breakpoint is to stop your work and give your mind and body a break every forty-five to sixty minutes.

What makes these three words special is that they’re your three words. Memorize them. Repeat them often. Sing them aloud when you’re in your car. Mumble them to yourself when you get nervous. Three words that, if repeated often enough and with enough oomph behind them, might just drown out your fear of feeling inferior (you’re not) and help you build some much-needed client loyalty.

Sophie had to force herself to breathe slower to keep her head from getting woozy. “I’m sure I speak for everyone,” Keefe grunted, “when I say: Are we there yet?” “Almost,” Tiergan promised. “Everyone dig deep—and don’t look down.” “Steaming sasquatch poop—that’s a long way to fall!” Keefe announced. Fitz moved closer to Sophie, his new cologne tickling her nose as he whispered, “I almost forgot. I brought you a present.” Her heart skipped at least five beats when he slipped an orange velvet satchel into her palm. He’d been bringing her lots of tiny gifts lately—and she’d been trying hard not to read too much into it. “Ugh, anyone else ready to vomit from the Fitzphie?” Keefe asked. “I am,” Dex said, as Linh asked, “Did Fitzphie become an actual thing?” “I don’t even know what ‘Fitzphie’ is supposed to mean,” Tiergan noted. “Want me to explain it?” Tam offered. “No,” Sophie said, opening the satchel and pulling out a fist-size crystal prism. It was heavy like a paperweight, and when she held it up to the light, rainbow sparkles flashed across her fingers, highlighting words carved across the base, along with the Foxfire seal. Alvar Soren Vacker “That’s called a Radiant,” Fitz explained. “It’s the highest honor any prodigy can receive when they complete the basic levels at Foxfire. Alvar was so disgustingly smug about earning one that he told my mom she should keep it on the mantel in our main sitting room, so it could inspire Biana and me to work harder.” “Ugh, I forgot about that,” Biana grumbled. “I can’t believe Mom did it.” “I know. So I think it’s time to destroy it. And considering where we are, maybe it’d be fun to let it take a really nasty fall.” “Gotta give you credit,” Tam told Fitz. “That’s pretty much a perfect gift.” It was. Though Sophie felt bad taking it. “Shouldn’t you or Biana do the honors?” “Nope. Alvar was there when they took your parents,” Biana argued. “And when you were kidnapped.” “Just throw it extra hard, for us,” Fitz added. Sophie glanced at Dex. “Alvar helped kidnap you, too.” “So boost your throw with the Sucker Punch I made you,” he suggested. They seemed pretty sure, so Sophie gathered whatever mental energy she could muster and channeled it into her arm muscles. A burst of force from the Sucker Punch gave her throw extra oomph as she hurled the Radiant down the center of the curving stairs, where none of the bodyguards would be standing. A satisfying

The more difficult the food is to break down, the more energy is required to digest it. For example, if you eat a steak, it requires an incredible amount of physiological oomph for your body to digest. Your system has to divert a copious amount of resources that could be otherwise used for clear thinking or exercising well or simply being attuned to a beautiful day. The more blood diverted, the more drained and unfocused you become. You experience that “food coma” that only passes when the job is done.

But before the air could burst from my lungs, the wind git knocked out of me. Oomph! I fell to the ground, my skirt falling softly over my head. Mirabella had intercepted my eye-cry for help. She'd chewed through her restraints and tackled me from behind, barking at unseen cougars, trying to shield me with her tiny body. "Caramba!" Sister Maria squealed, dropping the flashlight. The music ground to a halt. And I have never loved someone so much, before or since, as I loved my littlest sister at that moment. I wanted to roll over and lick her ears, I wanted to kill a dozen spotted fawns and let her eat first.

Thanks so much, George Harrison, for the lyrics penned smoothly and interpreted by the help of music dragomen; for songs sung with the primal inhalation of rhapsody; for the oomph of demonstrable talents; for the mild, wind-tossed guitar riffs; and for The Beatles, whose melodies and Rock ‘n’ Roll verge on the brims of sustainable solace.

Age and Time cannot stop the Rolling Stones, the phoenixes of Rock ‘n’ Roll. They gather moss as they roll on, splicing eclectic genre with eccentric fuss, mildly tuned down to hail the oomph of imperious melody. The Stones sure rock. They roll with impunity. And we listen with gaiety.

Zack stood, and Ace pulled him back to the bed. Zack landed with an oomph. “Sorry.” Ace tried to be gentle as he pushed Zack to lie straight, the way he’d suggested. “What the fuck?” Zack’s voice was muffled by the pillow Ace shoved under his face. “Just relax and enjoy. I’m not coming on to you, for Christ’s sake. I’m just trying to be nice. Accept it,” he barked, his glare fading when he felt Zack chuckle. “Ass.” Zack sighed and settled into the bed. -Ace & Zack

The secret to living life with oomph is realizing that there is nothing wrong with you; your weaknesses and strengths are what makes you special. You will naturally be drawn to some things, a good indicator and a path to follow. Do not fall into the trap of pursuing activities that bring you no inner-satisfaction.

She held out her hand as she swiveled in her seat, and came face to face with Darío Luna. Well, not quite face to face, more like hand to crotch. Her hand, held out to shake, came into direct contact with two-time Masters winner Darío Luna’s penis. His “oomph” and her simultaneous “oohh” stunned the rest of the table until the man standing next to Darío said, “If that’s your idea of a greeting, luv, let me introduce myself.

More than food and shelter, the disabled crave love and compassion. They need to feel wanted. There is an Indian saying, “Not wealth, not food, but a little genuine comforting oomph can breathe life into a dead person.” Caring and comforting love can heal the soul. It takes unconditional love to offer such comfort and care.

We assist in unblocking the body so oomph so it can surge liberally and permit you to give up yourself more intensely into the incident and let go utterly resulting in a delicate sensuality, experience more idyllic and more congenial than one might usually discover from the western.

Keri answered the door, looking frazzled and not having the best hair day he’d ever seen. “Hi, Sean. I was just thinking, gee, I need more Kowalskis in my life right now.” He laughed and stepped into the big foyer. “Baby acting up?” “I thought the Kowalski men were royal pains in the ass—no offense—but you guys have nothing on the girls.” “Joe writing?” She blew out a sharp breath and put her hands on her hips. “No. Joe is pretending to write so I won’t dump Brianna in his lap, but he’s probably playing some stupid game.” From the other room came a pissed-off howl that Sean hoped was their daughter and not a wild animal foraging for table scraps. “So he’s in his office?” Keri nodded and waved a hand in that direction before making a growling sound and heading off to appease her daughter. Welcome to the jungle, he mused before heading to Joe’s office. He rapped twice on the door, then let himself in. Joe looked up with a guilty start and Sean knew his wife had him all figured out. “She knows you’re only pretending to write so you don’t have to deal with the kid.” “You know what really sucks? Everybody keeps saying to just wait till she’s older. Like it gets worse. How can it get worse?” Sean lifted his hands in a “don’t ask me” gesture. “For years I’ve been writing about boogeymen and the evil that lurks in the hearts of men. I had no idea there’s nothing scarier than a baby girl.” Sean laughed. “She can’t be that bad. What does she weigh? Ten pounds?” “Fifteen. But it’s fifteen pounds of foul temper and fouler smells. Trust me.” “I’ll take your word for it.” Joe leaned back in his leather office chair and sighed. “Let’s talk about your life. She still on the couch?” “Yes, she is.” “Good. I said you’d last three weeks.” Maybe, but Sean wouldn’t bet on it. Or he shouldn’t have bet on it, anyway. Especially a whole month. His balls ached just thinking about it. “You guys come up with a plan for the kids for Saturday yet?” “Yeah, but it’s going to cost you.” “Not a problem. I’ll just take it out of all the money I’m going to collect from you idiots at the end of the month.” Joe grinned. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy.” He was. With as much oomph as he could muster. And he’d probably keep telling himself that up to the minute he got Emma naked.

THE BIG PIECE of secular conventional wisdom about Protestantism has been that it gave a self-righteous oomph to moneymaking and capitalism—hard work accrues to God’s glory, success looks like a sign of His grace. But it seems clear to me the deeper, broader, and more enduring influence of American Protestantism was the permission it gave to dream up new supernatural or otherwise untrue understandings of reality and believe them with passionate certainty.

I present to you ube chocolate chip cookies two ways: one with semisweet chips and the other with white chocolate chips. Tell me which you prefer. I'm honestly a little torn." They took turns sampling my offering, giving each cookie their undivided attention. Elena said, "If you're going to serve the cookies as is, I'd say the semisweet gets my vote. It plays well with the earthiness of the ube, but is still a chocolate chip cookie. The white chocolate is a bit too sweet for me." Adeena, whose capacity for sugar was probably some kind of Guinness World Record, said, "I disagree about the white chocolate being too sweet. It's so good! But it lacks oomph, you know? If you're playing with the classics, why not add macadamia nuts? Then it could be your take on white chocolate macadamia cookies. Which are my favorite cookies, FYI," she said to Elena.

I finally came up with a cake base that seemed right and debated whether the coconut should go in the cake or be sprinkled on top. Hmm, probably better to test both and see. Cupcake trays filled and in the oven, it was now time to come up with the right frosting. I decided to go with cream cheese, both to mimic the cheese slices that usually top the bibingka and because cream cheese frosting was the best frosting. Don't @ me. It was delicious but tasted like a regular cream cheese frosting. It needed some oomph, something that let people know it was a bibingka cupcake. As I analyzed my grandmother's bibingka, layer by layer, I realized what was missing: the salted duck eggs. I was a huge fan of the sweet and salty combination and knew if I used the salted duck eggs sparingly, I'd have a winning combination on my hands.

He maintained a full grip on the knife handle, curling his thumb around the handle instead of leaving it up and exposed to potential injury. It was also more difficult for an attacker to take the knife away. Not that Liam was worried about that with these jokers. Baseball Cap was the closest thug. He was taking a break from the beating and had stepped back to light a cigarette. His head was bowed, both his hands up and cupped around the cigarette at his mouth. His baseball bat leaned against the opened door of the truck. Out of reach. Liam took several swift and silent strides. He approached Baseball Cap from behind, grabbed his head, and drove the knife upwards from the top of his spine into his brain. Baseball Cap dropped like a stone, instantly dead. The cigarette dangled from his dead lips. Liam stepped back and let him fall. It took a second for the two remaining hostiles to react. Liam didn’t waste that second. The man in the hunting cap whirled, a startled look on his face. He started to raise his baseball bat, but Liam was already on him. He smashed into the man’s chest and drove him back into the side of the Chevy. Hunter let out a pained oomph. The third hostile would be reacting now, too, ready to charge Liam at any second. He needed to move fast. Hunter pummeled at his ribs. Liam took the blows. Hunter tried to push him off, shove him away so he could get some leverage and get a good punch in, use the baseball bat. Liam didn’t let him. Using his left arm to deflect any potential blows, he used his right hand to slash the knife across the side of the hostile’s throat, severing his carotid artery. He stepped back fast but the arterial spray still got him. Hunter slid down the side of the truck, flailing, gasping. He’d be dead in a few minutes.

You can use crystals to decorate your home office and add some oomph to its energy

One of the girls let out an oomph and lost her grip on his shoulder. The world plunged— Strong, unfaltering hands caught him, his nose barely half a foot from the pale gravel as the other girls shuffled and grunted, trying to heft him up again. He’d come free of the horse, but his legs were now sprawled beneath him, as distant from him as the very top of the Torre, high above. Roaring filled his head.

Mommy!” One second, I’m lying flat on the bed. The next, Lana shoves me off the mattress with an inhuman amount of strength that I never thought she possessed. I land on the floor with an oomph. “Fuck.

Feyre slid her tattooed hands into her pockets. “Can you show Nesta how to ward it herself? Something perhaps with a bit more … oomph?” “Oomph?” Rhys asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Oomph,” Feyre said, throwing him a glare. “We can’t all be silver-tongued like you.” Rhys winked. “Good thing you benefit from it, Feyre darling.” Cassian chose to ignore the innuendo, and the flicker of arousal from both of them. Helion, however, snickered.

Her gaze lifts to the town. “Will they help us?” I hunch down so I can rest my chin on her shoulder. “Maybe if you show them that perfect pair of ti—oomph!” I grunt as she kicks me. “You’re so good at foreplay.” I grin.

I hope you’re not planning all the ways you can torture me already.” Her half-hearted tease lacks any oomph. “Torturing you is my favorite pastime.

I mean this with the utmost disrespect—fuck you,” Creed seethed. “Creed,” Keelan admonished, but there was zero oomph in his voice.

Can you show Nesta how to ward it herself? Something perhaps with a bit more... oomph?' 'Oomph?' Rhys asked, lifting an eyebrow. 'Oomph,' Feyre said, throwing him a glare. 'We can't all be silver-tongued like you.' Rhys winked. 'Good thing you benefit from it, Feyre darling.

Red pepper is the theme, but there's no sign of it in the noodles or broth. Does that one little dollop of paste on the side really have the oomph to compensate for that?" "It's harissa, a seasoning blend said to have originated in Northern Africa. The ingredients generally include paprika, caraway seeds, lemon juice and garlic, among other things. But the biggest is a ton of peppers, which are mashed into a paste and blended with those other spices." Oh! That's the same thing Dad made when he visited the dorm. I think I remember him saying it came from somewhere in Africa. "The ramen's broth is based on Chicken Muamba, another African recipe, where chicken and nuts are stewed together with tomatoes and chilies. This broth forms a solid backbone for the entire dish. Its zesty flavor amplifies the super-spicy harissa to explosive proportions!" "That's gotta be sooo spicy! Whoa! Are you sure it's a good idea to dump that much of it in all at once?!" "Hoooo!Thanks to the mellow, full-bodied and ever-so-slight astringency of that mountain of peanuts he infused into the broth... ... adding the harissa just makes the spiciness and richness of the overall dish grow deeper and more complex with each drop! Extra-thick cuts of Char Siu Pork, rubbed with homemade peanut butter before simmering! And the slightly thicker-than-usual wavy noodles! They soak up the broth and envelop the ultra-spiciness of the harissa... all together, it's addicting! Its deliciousness so intense that my body cries out from its heat! African Ramen... how very intriguing! A dish that never before existed anywhere in the world, but he's brought it to vibrant life!

Any chance you might share your secret?" I laugh and tell him, "No real secret. Just plenty of fresh lump crabmeat, and some scallions and bell pepper, and Hellmann's mayonnaise, and not too much breading or handling the cakes too much, and... don't forget these crab cakes are deviled." He gets a cute frown on his tanned face and says, "What's that?" "Deviled," I repeat as I pull the tray outta the convection oven and arrange the little ovals on a platter. "Means they're real spicy with hot dry mustard and a few shakes of Tabasco." "Well, I'll be damned," he says. "No wonder yours are so different. I never heard of deviled crab cakes." "Oh, honey, I'm crazy about deviling lots of things- crab cakes, oysters, oxtails, and, of course, eggs. Gives 'em oomph, if you know what I mean.

To call spirits, again, sometimes a symbolic offering speeds things up. As for raising the dead, yeah, that kind of takes a big payment.” She scrat ched her nose. “But that depends on the necromancer. A strong one can get by with very little blood. He won’t need as much of a power boost, but the offering should be there. The amount of blood also depends on the quality.”   I felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to start slaughtering bunnies to get things done, but the last thing she said worried me. “The quality?”   “It’s not just how powerful the necromancer is, but also how powerful the blood is. You’d get more, you know, oomph out of a goat than a chicken. It’s simply a bigger payment. That being said, a more powerful necromancer could do more with a smaller sacrifice than a less powerful one could. They run more efficiently,” she said. “Here, think of it this way: Douglas is a hybrid car, and you’re a clunky old truck.”   “Thank you for that.”   Ashley glared at me until I pantomimed shutting my mouth and throwing away the key.   “You both need gas to run, but the hybrid wouldn’t need as much because it can draw from its internal power source, the electric battery. It uses a small amount of fuel more efficiently. The truck lacks that internal power source. It can get to the same place the hybrid car can, but it takes tons more gas to do so.”   “I should trade you in,” Brid said.   “Don’t make me sic Ling Tsu on you,” I told her.

Next thing I knew, I was waking to Kenjii licking my face and Corey saying, “Now this is when I really need a camera.” I’m sure that when I fell asleep, I’d been lying on my back, looking up at the sky as I talked to Daniel. But when I woke up, I was on my side, nestled with my back against him, his arm over me. I jumped up so fast I kicked him in the shins and he let out an “Oomph.” Corey’s laugh rang out through the silent forest. “Oh, come on. You guys looked so cute.” “Cold,” I muttered. “It got cold.” “Then let’s hit the trail and warm up,” Corey said.

Give me some oomph, babe,