Going Down In a Blaze Of Glory

One of the interesting things when living alone is that you have the luxury of doing whatever you want, whenever you want, with no one to criticize or comment. Emily, of course, my pet of 12 years has a thing or two to say when I play music too loud, but that’s only a mean look and a saunter to the deep abyss of the back corner of the closet (did I just make reference to my cat not coming out of the closet?)

One of the other interesting things when living alone, is that if something happens, you are left alone to take care of it. There have been several circumstances when I wished I was not the one left to take care of these tasks. Not just because I am not good at them, but to be quite frank, I don’t want to deal with them and its stuff a guy should do anyway.

Last winter, it was my furnace. Its only five years old, however a furnace filter placed upside down rather than right side up, not allowing proper air flow, was the reason for the motor burning out. Ouch, not cheap, and chilly for a few days. In a ironic and mocking twist, Home Depot was sold out of electric units.

This past summer, it was finding the best way to manage my garbage so as not to get maggots. I put the garbage out each week, but in the hottest times of the summer, I couldn’t avoid the little buggers. Using the garbage disposal as often as possible, rinsing out empty containers, and spraying the inside of the garbage can with a pesticide once a week did the trick. I also learned that maggots are the eggs of flies, and if you shut the lid on the garbage can all the way (sealed) that flies cant get in and then you wont get maggots. Duh. Those things are fucking disgusting. I can only imagine the humor my neighbors found in me putting my garbage can on the lawn and spraying it with a hose a quarter mile away because I was afraid the maggots would get on my skin and burrow into my soul.

This past fall, it was those damn spouts that attached to the end of your gutters to trail water off the roof and into the yard. I was getting heavy water in two spots, and I had to rig the gutter system to take the water further away from the foundation of the house. Turns out when you add footage to the spout of gutters, your best to use an epoxy to set them in place, otherwise, after a heavy wind storm, you’ll find them in several of your neighbors yards. How embarrassing? Again, I’m sure they found humor in my shameless walk between homes, picking up the 6 spouts that had taken flight.

Last night, it was a stupid mistake on my part that had my heart racing, and my jeans wet.

So the story goes...
I set the pot to boil some water. My stove is a flat top. I settled into the couch knowing it would take a few minutes before I could boil my pasta and several minutes later, I smelled a wretched scent that catapulted me from the couch and into the kitchen. As I turned around, I noticed flames from the stove top. As I raced to the area, I was thinking to myself, “Oh my god, I never picked up a fire extinguisher from Home Depot. What the fuck am I going to do.” It was a plastic food scale that had caught fire and I had turned on the wrong burner, not boiling the water, but cooking the scale. YIKES! I thought to myself “This will teach me to not keep a lot of shit on the stove.” The scale was on fire, and it was pretty good, I would say flames about 2 – 3 feet high. The hot gloves were an option, but I was afraid they would not suffice and protect my hands from the heat. So I grabbed a pair of tongs, grabbed a corner of the plastic scale, and flung it across the kitchen, hoping my basketball skills would come in handy and land that unit square into the kitchen sink. It did. I couldn’t help myself in adding humor to a situation I felt petrified in (I often joke when I am really upset about something.) “She shoots and she scores” I shouted out loud. Throwing my arms up as a referee would when a punter it successful. I then ran over to the faucet and turned on the water and doused the flaming scale out.

Then comes the remaining plastic bits, still in flames and smelling craptastic (word courtesy of Elle Michelle) so I took the extendable water spicket from my sink and shot it across the room. Success, yet again.

When the fire was out, in an ironic and mocking twist, the fire alarms began to sound.

Emily looked at me as if I was crazy. I swear she shook her head at me, and I stood there in the kitchen, at first proud of my fire woman like skills, thinking to myself, “Yeah, I could do it. I could be a fire fighter.”

Then suddenly realizing my jeans were wet thinking it was the water from the faucet, but realizing it wasn’t. I was so scared I peed myself. I then quickly changed my mind and thought to myself, “Yeah, maybe I wouldn’t be good at it.”

Let’s just say this morning rather than boiling tea in the tea kettle on the stove, I stuck with the microwave.

Those ladies of you out there that have a man to take care of this kind of shit for you, don't take it for granted. Repay with warm meals or sexual favors...because it blows to have to do it on your own (in a strange and non mocking twist, blow could be a pun relating to sexual favors).

Have a fantabuloso weekend readers...I'm headed to Chi town to celebrate a friend's birthday!

Shopping, tatoo (not me), wine and fondue, in that order than you very much.