Don't Want To Be Your Monkeywrench
You’re furious. I never taught you to sing. You carry rocks in your head and pitch them. Without warning. Happy drunk. You’re furious. I beg you for sin. I beg your skin. You buy a whore. Don’t give her water. You’re furious.
Or, really, one question. How the fuck does one clean dry chemical extinguisher residue out of an oven? Or is this the sort of thing that leads to my building needing to outright replace the thing, thereby causing the fire incident to become the final domino breaking whatever parts of my life I haven’t already managed to break? Is that one question, or a two-part question?
Addendum: The answer, as per a PDF from the manufacturer: Hot water and baking soda. It’s like magic.
Idea Whiplash points us to an Associated Press story on that exhibition game tomorrow at Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum — with a picture of how the field will be laid out. I really do wish that I could watch this game somewhere.
The important bits first. I am fine. My cat is fine. As stated previously, I turned the oven on without realizing there still was a pizza box inside. Shortly before my smoke alarm went off, this thought entered my head: “What is this funny taste I have in my mouth?”
Billowing smoke. Open the oven door. Oh, look, flames. Remember my fire extinguisher under the sink. Pull the plastic pin. Squeeze the trigger. Billowing smoke. Flames. Extinguisher cloud. Running back and forth to the windows (oh, right, I opened all the windows) to find something resembling actual oxygen, back to the oven, into the smoke. Oh, look, flames. More extinguisher.
Not really much more to say than that, really. Except for all the fire doors in the building being released from their electromagnets, and the fire bells on every floor sounding and resounding.
I’ve thrown away everything that was in the immediate vicinity of the oven and was doused in extinguisher residue. Everything in my living room now possesses a fine layer of white dust.
So not only am I not permitted to switch my cell phone service to another provider (I was considering it since my current contract is up shortly) because my credit rating possesses a gravitational field so strong no light can escape, but apparently said rating must also be so strong that it warps the known laws of physics. None of the three major companies from whom one can annually request a copy of one’s credit report would provide it to me online. All are requiring me to submit the request via mailed-in form.
Addendum: As I was writing this, I almost set my apartment building on fire by turning on the oven not realizing there was a pizza box inside. I now will spend the evening throwing away everything in my kitchen, since it’s all been exposed to what came out of the fire extinguisher as I was spraying down the oven.
For those to whom this might matter, FURIOUS nads! should now accept OpenID for commenting purposes. Although I don’t do the Beer and Blog thing, this post noticed on ORblogs reminded me I wanted to get around to this.
