One Of Those Legendary Days

Saturday, Oct. 25, 2003 - 3:57 a.m.

Yesterday was one of those legendary days that probably won't get properly imparted to my readers, but I'm going to do my best to try and tell as much of what happened yesterday without embarrassing anybody, most of all Yours Truly.

Right now, it's early Saturday morning, and I'm just sort of generally pissed at the dickslap who lives next door. It's Indian Summer out here in San Francisco, even out here by the water, and there's a mosquito abatement program in full swing right now, because the little flying vampires are giving it one final whoop de do before the cold weather sets in.

Why am I upset with the guy next door? Simple. He has a poorly maintained, pump-free KOI POND. And those motherfucking fish apparently do not eat mosquito larvae. They are the -only- fish in the city and county of San Francisco -- in fact probably even the only -koi- who -don't-.

So I have been sitting here, composing this entry, and hearing the little bastards -- well, bastardettes -- singing and flying past. And they're getting away with it, too.

For you see, I had an accident last night.

My reflexes are severely slowed down in my right arm, because I was trying to take a meatloaf out of the oven after thirty minutes and tip it over the sink to let the grease drain off and then replace it in the oven to finish cooking for another thirty minutes -- when I suddenly lost my grip on the Pyrex loaf dish -- and leaned the underside of my goddamned right forearm on the inside of the open oven door. The meatloaf, still securely in the dish, simply tumbled down to the next wire rack.

There's a nice big glistening second-degree burn that goes from my right elbow to about a quarter of the way up the back of my arm. I didn't think it was going to blister, but at about one o' clock this morning, the center of it obligingly plumped up right nice, and now it looks like a long translucent yellow slug lounging on a pink throw rug. I have not had a burn blistering of this magnitude since I used the hose on myself during the senior year Choir Carwash and managed to scorch my arms, my face, my cleavage, and even the part in my hair.

Anyway, the meatloaf and the dish did not shatter, miraculously enough. Dinner was otherwise delightful.

When I relayed this to Scott Hysmith, he told me a jolly little story about the time his oldest child caught on fire at a reception. "Paramedics have a way of putting a damper on a party," was his extremely astute observation.

I still maintain that it depends on the party. If it's four in the morning, and the paramedics are just showing up to pump stomachs and wheel away anybody who is trying to hold a conversation with the umbrella stand, then it was a -good- party.

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So. What happened with that situation yesterday? The one where I cried until I vomited?...

I managed to get the culprit on the telephone and cry where -he- could hear it. Consequently, he cried, too.

But then, we talked. And, eventually, we laughed. It took me awhile to get past what was done, but it's past. As my friend Paul says, "What-the-hell ever." (And let me say for the record that, no, it was NOT Paul what done got my panties in a twist. At least not this time around, har dee har har...)

Anyway, the problem is solved. In the interest of coming out of this smelling like a rose, I've decided that identifying details will be taken with me to the grave.

However, for all intents and purposes, this has a happy ending.:)

Now if you'll excuse me -- I'm going to go let the paramedics in.

Just kidding.

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