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What Came Before

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From the ghost land of the easy life.

08 July 2005

the new phone book's here, the new phone book's here :
The new couch is in the house. Massive redecorating has begun. I now long for a computer desk and new bed. Priorities.

I've been feeling like hell, mostly because I ran out of acid reflux pills and have been feeling the burn. No fun.

I want to send a shout out to Rob Lowe who's supposed to be homeless for a month with Euro trash living at his place. Check him in the links to the left. Good luck Rob.

Razafraggin is on liquid morphine, so he feels better than I and I'm wishing him a speedy recovery. Also thanks for the link. Rafe, thanks for the link, VallhallaShoes thanks for the link, MPH thanks for the link, Cate thanks for the link and The Complimenting Complimentor has me down as someone participating in the 100 compliments of summer. Thanks to Opaco for the link, check the site and give an opinion on the new site layout. It's different than before.

So as not to be totally boring, and to make my lurking best friend from college here's a tale.

When I was in college I lived in many places. In one house there was 4 of us girls together. Upstairs there were all guys in law school and in the basement too. The guy right above me played Eminem's My Name Is all year. I hated him. He was an idiot and called me the fat ugly one. My stereo was way better than his and one day we freaked them out by blasting the Dixie Chicks at building shaking levels. No more noise problems after that but we moved out the next day.

Anyways, one day my best pal and me decide since we're home alone and broke we're gonna cook. We can do it we're acquainted with the idea of cooking and usage of the stove. I have taken several home ec classes. We settle on poutine. For those of you unfamiliar with this it's fries, gravy and cheese (usually cheese curs but we were using shredded mozza). We were stoked. We had a giant pot; we filled it with oil to cook the fries. We peeled and washed the spuds. We had a wire basket to use for our masterpiece of frying.

So we turn on the stove. We put the bowl of water with cut chips in it by the stove. We fill the basket. We submerge the basket. We watch in horror as the oil boils over into the element and sets the stove on fire. My best bud runs screaming out the front door and into the street while I, because I took home ec, take the pot off the stove, shut off the stove and cover the flames with the largest pot lid we have. Major crisis averted and we don't even set off the fire alarm.

My best friend is out in the street. I tell her to come back in and we have a laugh about her running away. Way cool in the face of a crisis and she wants to work in a hospital when she graduates. So we begin cleaning up. We take the entire stove apart to clean it and we even have oil on the floor so we mop, mop, mop it up with paper towels. Our place didn't have an actual mop. Then we return to making poutine. We are, after all, aware that if we dry the chips before frying the fire thing won't happen. It was a good snack after all we'd worked up an appetite.

Our nasty bulimic roommate and her minion came home later that day and insisted we'd done something horrible to the kitchen floor. We flat out lied about our adventures in deep-frying. That night nasty girl got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the wooden floor, insisting she couldn't stand the awful smell anymore and how could we not smell it. We laughed about it then. We still laugh about it now.
ghost writer Ambrrrr at 9:47 PM

MenTal fUrbAll