Secret Dinner (Part Two)

(continued from yesterday...)

I tell ma 'n' pa the story and the plan. They both offer tips. They drive me to the store for supplies: Trout, French bread, Beure, Wine, tasty cheese, salad stuff, fresh dill, lemon, big-assed red onion, tomato and a bag of tea lights, wicked. It rules.

Ok, so I'm house/ Fiver sitting for Cel while she's in France and well, she recently moved and didn't really get a chance to totally move in to the kitchen. Not only that but I think a family of dirty dirty monkeys (or at least a group of method actors in very believable monkey suits) must have lived there just before her, because the kitchen pretty much looks like the watering hole from the opening of '2001: A Space Odyssey.'

anyway... I blow off my homework and start cleaning the kitchen. It's a herculean task. I'm deep in the trenches when Sarah calls and says she's wants to drop by...

"ok, sure baby, I'd love that." (hang up.) "EEEEK!"

Stop cleaning (that's half the surprise, hide ALL the stuff I bought in cupboards and re-mess up a little.

She's wonderful and lovin and then goes back out to finish her errants I tell her we are walking Fiver at 4 on the nose (being a little bit of a jerk on purpose) She looks a little nervous and leaves.

It's now like 2:00. I start cleaning and preparing like a madman. The kitchen is crazy. clean scrub clean, cut the stuff, make the thing, e-mail Anna asking her how to make the thing, make the salad, check the e-mail, chill the wine, check the e-mail, I'm never gonna make it 3:10 Sarah calls. Oh shit. don't come by now. not NOW! fuckityfuckfuck.


"hi beautiful."

"I'm running behind can we walk Fiver at 5:00, I'm so so sorry."

(stunned by awesomenessitude) "...yes!"

'I totally value your time and I don't want you to think...'

'Do it. It's awesome.'

"Really? your not pissed?"

"I LOVE five. Five sounds great." (I'm totally feeling that horseshoe in my ass.)

"...really though?"

"Five on the nose. I love it. really."

"ok. love you.'


Sweet! It gives me the time I need. I set the table, sweep, and totally finish cleaning up, then I look at the stove.

How the HELL do you work Mr. Propane? It's ancient and dangerous as hell looking. Cel turns off the gas at the tank because when she doesn't she smells propane. That is not an encouraging thought.

I go outside turn on the gas, light the pilot lights on the stove top and open the oven. wow. What a nightmare. I look desperately for a pilot light. Light a match and shake with the anticipation of the loss my eyebrows or sight or life as I wave it around inside the stove.

nothing.

That's about the about the second worst thing that could've happened. I wave it more and more and finally.

"Poof!"

Something lights in the back of the oven. cool. I turn up the gas. nothing. just the 'pssssss' sound of gas being released and frighteningly not lighting. just building.

I crank it to broil and cringe.

pssssss...

one mississippi...

psssssss...

two mississippi...

pssssssss...

three mississippi...

psssssssss...

I freak out, turn it off and run outside to turn off the propane.

What the FUCK do I do now? I look for the barbeque. cool. that'll work. umm... no propane tank. FUCK. ummm. I could cook it in the dishwasher. I remember hearing that. no dishwasher. FUCK!

I look at all my days preparations going to waste. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I look around the kitchen desperately and spot a toaster oven.

WHOO HOO! I'm SAVED!

It's in terrible shape, I open the door and take out some papers, some lipstick and an UHU glue stick underneath the grill. I flashback to the many fires I've starting in the kitchen, two of which involved toaster ovens. fuck that. I look back at the terrifying Mr. Propane. fuck it.

(to be continued...)


Today's Song of the Day is "Gabriel's Oboe" composed by Ennio Morricone off his 1986 soundtrack for "The Mission."

Crazy Fact: Ennio Morricone began studying music at Rome's Conservatory of Santa Cecilia at the age of 12.

njoy