A Challenge Answered

I wasn't planing on starting a blog when I woke up this morning. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was, "Man, my nipples are killing me!" - but that's another post.

No, I started this blog because of a challenge from an old friend. Granted, it sounded more like an assignment than a challenge, but I suppose that is to be expected since he is now a college professor. This whole thing started after penning a list of 16 random things about myself on Facebook. Here is a little story that was far to long to make the list, but still one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me. (Of course, it wasn't funny at the time.)

My best friend Katie and I moved to a three-bedroom apartment just out of college. We needed a roommate to help with the rent, and we weren't too picky. We ended up with Karl (names have been changed to protect the moronic). Karl had one of those white-boy fros that only a select few can really pull off - sadly, Karl was not one of them. His hair looked like a cross between a mad scientist and a poodle with a skin problem. Puzzlingly, he kept volumizing shampoo in the shower.

Anyway, when Karl moved in, he came with an enormous frozen turkey. There was no room in our minuscule freezer to put it, we decided to defrost it in the refrigerator and have a nice "welcome to the apartment" dinner. Now, I love to cook, so this was an unexpected windfall - a 20 lb turkey just dying for some attention. I envisioned the table laden with a golden roast bird, stuffing and mashed potatoes. I would get to take my much loved, but rarely used Cuisinart out of storage! I would get to spend a leisurely day puttering around in my new kitchen! Fantastic! We planned the dinner for that Tuesday at 3 o'clock. I had to work a dinner shift at the restaurant where I was a server, but should have plenty of time to get to work, well-fed and glowing from what was surely going to be the best meal I had ever cooked.

Tuesday morning arrived. I got up early and prepared the stuffing. I seasoned the bird, and lovingly gave it a melted butter massage. I stuffed it and trussed it and heaved it into the roasting pan. Just as I put it in the oven, the electricity went out. Not just a blown fuse - every light in the apartment. Bloody. Freaking. Hell. Okay, okay, just a temporary set back. I wedged the turkey back into the refrigerator and closed the door. I started pacing. I checked to see if the traffic light on the corner was working to get a feel for the scope of the problem. Nothing. I paced and paced and paced and muttered and fretted and paced some more. I paced my way to 4:30 PM, and had to set out for work. Literally, the second I took my car keys off the hook, the power came back on. I left for work in a foul mood.

I don't remember much about that shift, except rationalizing that if I could get out of there early, my dinner would be salvaged. It was okay to eat at midnight, right? We were young and foolish, a midnight dinner party had a certain charm, right? Well, I did make it out of there at a reasonable , even after the bastard of a manager in charge found fault with all of my sidework and made me do it over.

When I got home all ready to prepare my feast, Karl greeted me with a casual, "Oh, I cooked the turkey for you, it's in the fridge." Asshole. But that's not all, it actually gets better. Or worse, depending on your perspective.

I trudged into the kitchen to make myself a consolatory turkey sandwich. As soon as I opened the refrigerator door, it literally came off in my hand and landed on my big toe. The whole door. The whole 20-pound refrigerator door. All of the improperly stored eggs, and half the collection of condiments in the door crashed to the floor and exploded.

I cried myself to sleep.