The Case for A New Kitchen

A year ago I began my relationship with the Tappan Fabulous 400, born in 1968. A stainless steel monstrosity with a double oven and four electric coil burners that actually folded away inside the beast for a more aesthetically pleasing appearance, I was at first intimidated and then awed by its overwhelming construction.

The first bump in our affection happened almost immediately; a lack of passion. The larger oven simply refused to function. After consulting a few experts, I located a new heating element (cuz it's not like you can find one for this particular stove at Home Depot) and performed some minor surgery on my appliance. Unfortunately, the transplanted organ was rejected.

I persevered; after all, the Tappan still had one healthy organ/oven - how much food do I really need to prepare at a time anyway?

Our relationship skipped along happily for many months, but then the Tappan began acting suspiciously. The large burner began responding only sporadically, and while I was willing to overlook this rebuff of my affection, I admit to a certain amount of jealousy when Kimmie was able to coax it out of its hibernation.

Then two weeks ago, my Tappan threw what can only be described as a temper tantrum. It popped, it sparked - it blew a damn breaker! This time, a complete amputation of the offending burner was required (Not to mention carefully placed electrical tape over any remaining dangling wires), but it's possible to survive with only three limbs, right?

A week ago it happened again - an unexpected outburst of electrical activity. I yelped my distress and poured salve on its wounds, but to no avail. Three days later, two more burners stayed stone cold. I had to face it, my poor Tappan was deteriorating before my eyes and no amount of life support could undo the damage.

Last night, the final burner took its last shaky breath while mac and cheese sat congealing. Sure, the stove can breathe on its own (in the form of the small oven) but its brain, in essence, is gone. All I can do is give it the death and tribute it deserves for its many years of faithful and devoted companionship.

It was a loving partner and I'm sure it will understand my need to upgrade.


*Donations can be made to the Island of Misfit Toys, North Pole. Thank you

Snot....

For the past two days, my life has revolved around the magnificent amount of mucus my head has been producing nonstop. The congestion shifts from one side to the other; I find relief in my left and then throbbing in my right, only to have the pattern repeat itself conversely some time later. In the past forty-eight hours, I have been curled up in my favorite reading/writing chair in my family room overlooking my beautiful wooded backyard (that will soon become three feet deep in leaves but I'll try not to consider that at the moment), huddled under a blanket with my Toshiba on my lap, my thesaurus and Stephen King's "On Writing" balanced precariously on one arm and a box of Kleenex on a nearby TV stand. The pile of used tissues scattered on the floor around me are clinging to my metal doggie planter, my fireplace utensils and perhaps even Folly "moose" McGhee herself. I move only to pee, refill my hot tea or tomato soup, or crawl to my bed. Thank god for laptops, cell phones and text messages.

All I need is the parrot....

http://gangstaname.com/pirate_name.php:

Bad-rum Jade

(thanks barry!)

And then there's the !mafia name:

Fancy Pants Daniella

(How do they know I just bought leather pants???)

Interestingly enough, Kimmie are waist deep in Halloween shopping these days. It's gonna be a vodka-soaked Siren holiday, that's for sure

Note to Parents....

If my hounds aren't welcome in your house, your snot-nosed, break anything that isn't nailed down kids aren't welcome in mine.

Thankyouverymuch.

Ahhhh, families

I hit the rack at 4:30am-ish then rose (sorta) at 8:30am-ish to drag my butt into the shower, fish a large Gatorade out of my fridge and drive carefully over to my brother's, where I climbed into a van with his three boys all under the age of 9 and commenced to Sandusky to spend the day with la familia on the parental unit 30 foot boat. Hardly cognizant and barely sober, my heaven-sent (that particular day) stepmother gleefully pulled out the Bloody Mary mix at a mere 11am.

I didn't even mind the subsequent sunburn.

Scene at Home Depot....

Holding to the handle of one of those flat bed carts while bundles of shingles are loaded in my trunk.

"The secret to carrying these to the roof," he says, "is to put them on your shoulder."

"The secret to carrying those," I replied, "is to get a big strong man to do it for me."