wwbd?*
not that i'm keeping score or anything, but the idea of losing my stuff (including my HAIR) in a fire sort of bothers me.
three of us share this converted warehouse space, where one of us – me, because sometimes i need to take a timeout – has a room with a door that closes. flatman and firehazard have open lofts built on beams above the main space. the openness of the lofts and main space makes privacy a respect issue – not something we actively discuss, but simply do. one of our habits around here is take phone calls out in the hall, so we're not all forced to listen in on each other's conversations.
the other night, firehazard put a pot of chinese herbs on the stove to boil. then she rang someone up and roamed out into the hall to talk. eventually i was drawn to the kitchen by a subtle change in the boiling noise, and then turned off the flame when i lifted the lid off the pot to find that, of course, all the water had boiled off and the herbs and shell fragments and rocks were now cooking.
so i'm not feeling too warmly (a little hot-headed, though) towards this girl, especially since she finds these episodes charming and amusing. a third strike and maybe we need to talk... unless that third (match) strike burns the building down.
* what would buddha do?
[full disclosure: i, too (before i turned twenty, though), have forgotten a pot on the stove until the metal bottom bubbled and warped off and sustained massive black third-degree burn-flakeage. how this happens without the pot bursting into flames or melting or sticking to the burner itself must be some kind of engineering technology forged by people who know that people are stupid.]
three of us share this converted warehouse space, where one of us – me, because sometimes i need to take a timeout – has a room with a door that closes. flatman and firehazard have open lofts built on beams above the main space. the openness of the lofts and main space makes privacy a respect issue – not something we actively discuss, but simply do. one of our habits around here is take phone calls out in the hall, so we're not all forced to listen in on each other's conversations.
the other night, firehazard put a pot of chinese herbs on the stove to boil. then she rang someone up and roamed out into the hall to talk. eventually i was drawn to the kitchen by a subtle change in the boiling noise, and then turned off the flame when i lifted the lid off the pot to find that, of course, all the water had boiled off and the herbs and shell fragments and rocks were now cooking.
so i'm not feeling too warmly (a little hot-headed, though) towards this girl, especially since she finds these episodes charming and amusing. a third strike and maybe we need to talk... unless that third (match) strike burns the building down.
* what would buddha do?
[full disclosure: i, too (before i turned twenty, though), have forgotten a pot on the stove until the metal bottom bubbled and warped off and sustained massive black third-degree burn-flakeage. how this happens without the pot bursting into flames or melting or sticking to the burner itself must be some kind of engineering technology forged by people who know that people are stupid.]
posted by a wandering eye at 10:25 PM
2 Comments:
rina was never much good in the kitchen. not while I was with her anyway. i think it had much to do with the fact that she had no passion for cooking. i occasionally ridiculed her attempts to make tea as if it were the most creative thing she could do over a stove...
then came the night when there were explosions in the kitchen. i heard the first in a dream. it seemed out of place because, as i recall, the dream was quiet, pleasant, perhaps a bit erotic...
and that first explosion stunned me into a flashback. no. this was different. then another explosion. i was sitting up. my eyes were open. my mind was alert. my senses were on edge. yes, this is real. a shiver. and a shuddering reluctance to rise and creep into the other room. another explosion. and another...
i squinted in the dark for a weapon. something to swing. a club. gawd, i gotta call for a cop. another explosion and immediately another...
rina woke and i felt her confused gaze upon me. i rolled out of the bed and crept toward the door. another explosion. I stepped into the hall and tip-toed toward the kitchen. i made myself ready to pounce...
when I returned, i was laughing. i told rina that she would have to clean the eggs she had been boiling for hours on a high flame off the ceiling and the walls and the floor and everything else around the kitchen in the morning...
i never let her forget that. but that was one of many things i never let her forget. and maybe that is why she eventually left. I did not intend to be mean. I am sorry now that happened...
at the ripe age of thirty-nevermind, i must say i applaud your patience in such matters. i, on the otherhand, might light her bed on fire (okay i watch way too many lifetime movies starring farrah) and chant, "burn bitch! burn! this is why i take my crazy pills and you don't. good on ya.
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