I almost lost all my belongings in my absence this week-end. If I understood well, the culprit is a wooden fork that caught fire in some electric appliance. Kevin D.’s deposition to the forensic
psychiatrists I hired for the occasion sounds even fishier: “I smelled (smellt?) smoke in my kitchen. A wooden fork was on fire in the dishwasher, resting on the heating element. It's a miracle! Do you think I could sue?”. Knowing Kevin D. we very much doubt, here at FHC’s, that he ever used our dishwasher. The arson is most probably linked to the fact that he needs ten nightcaps to go to sleep at night and that we have a fireplace. I actually share some of the responsibility as I have systematically disabled all the smoke detectors in the house because I have a very bad habit of starting wood fires without opening the chimney and as a result the apartment is often filled with acrid Smoke (I personally don’t mind but last time they went off, Olliver D. was traumatized for 2 days and even went on a very brief but startling hunger-strike).
This event reminded me of the time I shared an English Basement with Renato Z. at 18th and R (the place was also know as Ali Baba’s Cavern because it was filled with all the trendy furniture and paintings he had obtained during his bitter divorce with a famous friend of ours – treasures he ended selling back to his ex-husband later on but that’s another story). I woke up once because the apartment was filled with smoke. Renato had started cooking in the middle of the night but as he was high on Coke as usual, he had simultaneously popped many sleeping pills and therefore fell asleep on the kitchen tiles while his diner was slowly catching fire. I hesitated for a moment to leave quietly the place, watch him suffocate from outside and then blame a suicide but instead I moved out shortly after.
Getting back to Kevin D.‘s arson, you could legitimately argue that anyway I have nothing: as a boat people (I mean European refugee) I only came to the US with two luggages and most of it was stolen by seven generations of boyfriends. The most expensive things at home must be my propecia prescription, my underwears collection, my kiehls’products and the DVD player LL got me for Christmas. Note to self: repair the smoke detectors tonight !
In other news: a camel on the loose (via LL, via wonkette), congratulations to Frederico C for getting a janitor job at Microsoft and some advice to the young gays (via Ari S.).
I think you mis-translated the word "stolen." What you meant to say is that you "gifted" all your nice things to me.
Posted by: LL | Monday, February 06, 2006 at 05:02 PM
But L. We were not referring to you...just to "the boyfriends" as a broad generic concept.
Posted by: Your buddy Tristan | Monday, February 06, 2006 at 05:49 PM
Well, this "broad generic concept" is just thrilled about all seven of your previous generations.
Posted by: LL | Monday, February 06, 2006 at 06:03 PM
what a tragic tragic tale of love and loss .. i'm quite traumatized after reading it. not near as traumatized though as when i see those black rectangle bars over your eyes. at least there's lovely un-blacked out ones on friendster for my personal viewing pleasure.
Posted by: myke | Monday, February 06, 2006 at 08:03 PM
I got a job as a WHAT? Ok, I have to admit I was considering that possibility but then I started hearing voices in my head saying I should be patient... that my time would come.. And then there was light, Adam and Eve, Joan D'Arc, William Shakespeare, Princess Di, Albert Einstein, Neil Armstrong, Bill Gates and me.
Posted by: Frederico C | Monday, February 06, 2006 at 09:06 PM
Honestly, who has a wooden fork? You crazy French.
Posted by: iLoveSushi209 | Tuesday, February 07, 2006 at 02:11 PM