Andare, Partire, Tornare


Burnin' down the house

Which Evil Criminal are You?

Hailing from sunny Transylvania, your first blood-related incident was when you stabbed a servant girl in the face with a pair of scissors for underperforming. Some of the red spray landed on your hands, and as you washed it off, you noticed that it left your skin fresh and young looking. From then on you were convinced that the blood of young girls was the secret to eternal youth.

Hmm. Does this mean I have to stop buying Clinique, and instead start filling the tub with the blood of virgins? Are there any virgins even out there for the taking anymore?

Sunday was much more interesting - and indeed, some of Sunday did resemble that Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times." But firstly, I toddled off with my sister Boop to the therapy riding place for volunteer orientation, got to meet Chet, a slow-movin', slow-thinkin' horse, and Tonka, a sturdy little halfling, or paint/draft cross. He was a chunky, stocky little guy with black and white paint splotches and feathered feet, plus a furry, teddy-bear coat. It was freezing standing out in the middle of the riding ring with the wind whipping across like we were in Siberia, so I spent most of the lesson with my hands tucked into Tonka's armpits. Horsie = warmth. I think this is going to be a lot of fun.

That evening, after I had climbed out of the shower and was attempting to blow dry my hair - now, that's when the *real* fun started. The fuse that the bathroom outlet is on has been touchy in the past, so I was keeping the dryer on low. The fuse didn't cooperate, however, and blew, and I was plunged into darkness. A darkness that smelled horrible. Horrible like somebody had taken a dead fish, laid it out in the driveway for about a week, and then stuffed it with sewage and set it on fire. Zee, the roommate, is candle-obsessed, so I fumbled for her lighter (yes, she keeps lighters in the bathroom, too), lit one, and discovered that a nice little stream of smoke was gushing out of the outlet I had been using. And the stench was coming from the outlet as the wiring started to fry.

I yelped for my roommate, and we made the decision to call the non-emergency fire dept. number. After all, no visible flames were there, the wall was warm but not hot, and we had shut off all the electricity to that outlet. The fire dept. decided to send a truck out, which relieved us both, and we scampered to put on more normal clothing (I was swanning around in Bemo's Hugh Hefner bathrobe, and Zee was in a Little House on the Prarie flannel nightgown). I opted for sweatpants and a teeshirt, and Zee put on her blue silk pj's, whereupon I made the comment, "We're going to look like a butch and bitch lesbian couple, you know. Especially since we own five cats between us."

"Well," said Zee, "if the firemen are cute, we can always invite them to stay."

They were cute, all three of them. And they brought the neatest little device that peers through the wall to see if there is actually a fire raging in your drywall, or if you're ok. They told us that the wall was hot, to call an electrician, that we were lucky the fuse blew or we would have had a raging fire for sure, and to have a nice day. Very reassuring type, firemen. I felt like I was supposed to be offering them cookies and tea, but refrained, and Zee and I stood at the door and waved farewell as Our Heros drove off in their big yellow firetruck. Then we made relieved phonecalls to everybody to let them know how close we came to having to evacute five cats and one unruly dog out the door and into the chilly night.

I called it a night, went to bed, and was awoken at four am by my darling Bemo snoring like a musk ox next to me. Now, he usually snores, but tonight he had taken the pitch up a few octaves, so it was not the pleasing rumbly kind of snore, but the piercing, hurt your brain and make your ears bleed type of snore.

And that's why I'm at work, scanning pictures into ARGUS, and trying not to nod off.

And it's Monday. The week of the test is suddenly upon me. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in...I am an art historical guru, I am an art historical guru...

9:57 a.m. - 2002-03-11


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