listening to: the dirty projectors – gilt gold scabs
If there’s anyone out there who’s been wanting to shoot me or hit me in the face or something for a while, now is the time to speak up. I would not necessarily be opposed.
Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with the month of October?!
Cut to Friday night: I’m making cookies. We have a cello section potluck the next night and I’m making cookies. My oven is a gas oven, a really old narrow thing with ONE rack, so in order to bake a whole batch of cookies, I have to open the oven and take a cookie sheet in and out like…a lot of times. Maybe six or seven.
(pause entry for note that the Dirty Projectors are WEIRD)
So it’s like…12:30am. Possibly slightly later. When all of the sudden I hear the smoke-alarm going off. And I kind of yell, but accept it because it so frequently happens that I set the smoke detector off when I cook meat or things that end up very smoky, since there is no effing ventilation system in my kitchen. And this fact raises a sudden question in my head because…hey. I’m baking fracking cookies. Not cooking meat. And nothing is burning. NOTHING IS BURNING. If anything things are not baking enough because the temperature gauge on that oven is off by like…a lot, and I’m realizing I need to get me one of those oven thermometers, so I don’t have to destroy baked goods in my oven or just make them less exciting by not cooking fast enough.
But back to how NOTHING IS BURNING and the smoke-alarm has no right to go off…I walk into my living room and find that it’s not the smoke detector. It’s the smoke detector/Carbon Monoxide detector going off. And that the CO light is definitely the light that’s flashing. The first thing I do is google “gas oven carbon monoxide” and immediately read that — YES — you can kill yourself and all your family members if your gas oven tends to leak CO. The next thing I do is turn the oven off, cry for the unbaked cookies, open some windows and go outside to call my mom, all the while wondering if I’m feeling dizzy because I’m so tired or because I’m being killed by poisonous gases.
After freaking out at my mother for a little bit (because I’m pretty paranoid about invisible death), I call the number for the 24-hour emergency maintenance. I explain to the maintenance guy how I was using my gas oven to bake, and suddenly the CO alarm started going off. He un-energetically says “…you were cooking…” like he doesn’t believe it. I say “yes. baking. with the GAS. OVEN,” almost adding “…which produces poisonous gases that kill tenants in their sleep, HINT HINT.” He informs me that some of the CO detectors they installed needed to be replaced soon after installation, or that maybe the battery needs changing (note: the battery light should blink if that’s the case. The battery light was definitely not blinking. Just the “get the hell into some fresh air” light). He says to go inside and reset the detector and see what happens. He doesn’t even say “make sure to find a place to stay tonight that isn’t your apartment” or something along those lines.
So I go back inside, frustrated, and reset the alarm by removing the battery. It doesn’t go off again, but I read on the back of the alarm that the alarm will not sound until it’s sensed CO for a certain amount of time, depending on the amount of CO it detects. This is not reassuring news. I decide the best thing to do is leave, and end up staying at Eric’s apartment.
That was actually cool, making fun of the names of the TV-shows on adult channels on the TV-guide channel and watching the Mormon episode of South Park. We also talked about the end of the world, and how our planet is fucked. Seriously. If you want to get into my super-pessimistic head, ask me what I think about global warming. I also got to bond with Eric’s pretty damn insane cat. It was fun. I mean, “fun” in the sense of being a human cat-toy throughout random hours of the night. But seriously, fun. Boomer is a cute cat, for being so damn evil.
But anyway. I went back to my apartment fairly early in the morning to find it quiet, no alarms sounding. No neighbors having broken in and smashing any alarms which wouldn’t shut up. This has not stopped me from composing a fairly strongly-worded email to the property-owners. Because the way I was told to handle the situation I am pretty sure is bull-shit. “Yeah, some of the alarms were malfunctioning after we installed them, so you should just take my word for it and possibly die in the middle of the night.” Seriously, though. I should be able to at least cook in my own apartment. What else do I pay this much for, being limited to microwave cooking? I think not. Also, it’s notable to mention that this isn’t the first time I’ve been told to shut up and deal with it by the maintenance guy, and I think it’s about time for that to be brought attention to.
The most tragic part of this whole ordeal was having to throw out the cookies I had made, as I read somewhere that foods cooked in CO-giving-off ovens are not a great idea. Sigh.
Yeah. So…huzzah. I’m alive and stuff.
The cello party was actually pretty awesome, if I may say so. I made a greek potato salad, which was great and very colorful, and I’m not regretting not taking any photos of the thing. There was also meatloaf present which…I never realized how much I enjoyed meatloaf until maybe last year. Hmm. But the party. Very awesome. We watched the Illinois football team get their asses (eventually) kicked by Michigan. Rock it, Illinois.