I love trouble.

Actually, I don't. However, I always seem to be getting into something. Maybe I do like it? That'll be one for my therapist.

This is why everyone should get renter's insurance asap: stuff happens. And before you know it, your place is burning down.

So here's what happened to me.

In the interest of making my new pad more 'visitor-friendly,' I splurged on some wine and a nice bourbon. I rarely drink the stuff myself (bourbon), but a lot of folks here in town do, and I always like to be the enabling friend. Enablers are way more fun.

In addition, I went to Ikea (again) and got a cute little one-person sized wine rack. I placed this rack on the wall on the only available spot in my kitchen, which happens to be above the stove (not directly, of course). I also placed the bourbon up there, since the bourbon bottle happened to be delightfully wine bottle-shaped, and since keeping a nice bottle of bourbon under the sink seemed a little... I don't know.. trashy.

So it's been up there for a few days now, and I must say, my pad is looking really cute. I'm pretty happy about everything.

So I'm sitting at my computer today, working and blissfully unaware of my surroundings, when I suddenly hear a POP and then something sounding like crinkling cellophane. This sound didn't sound like a sound that was a good sound. I jumped from my computer and ran toward it. In the kitchen. First I see a cascade of water? Coming from the ceiling? Did a pipe break? Then: NO. The bourbon bottle (107 proof, thank you) popped open, just like that, and was now spilling about $40 worth of liquid all over my... SHIT! All over the stove!

I've been to Nashville Pussy shows, so I am very aware of what happens when you mix 100+ proof with fire. I shut off the gas (was baking a cake, because apparently I now bake things in my downtime.)... . Oh but it was too late! The bourbon caught and went up with a whooff.

Suddenly, my kitchen is on fire! The flames spread quickly to the counter and any place the bourbon had spilled. They were blue and hot and licked the walls and ceiling. Big fire. I did what any normal, rational human being would do: I screamed and called my best friend. Her phone was out. SHIT.

The things going through my head:
My landlord is sure going to be sorry she rented this out to me.
Do I put salt on a stove fire? (Tried it: answer is NO)
I can't believe this is happening to me.
Can I work it so I die in this blaze too?
Don't call fire department yet. It's not THAT bad.
Boy it sure reeks in here. But still better than the sewage.
Really, I can't use salt?
Can I blow on it?
Water?
How can I possible save my computer and my farfisa and my organ and my art?

As I'm contemplating all of this and calling 911, the fire just died. Just like that. And it was over. The only damage was to an extension cord I use for the coffee maker. Counter: fine. Walls: fine. Stove: fine. Ceiling: fine. Me: not fine. Shaking. Nerves shot. I'm going to throw up. No I'm not. Holy shit.

A: Life is amazing; one never knows what it will bring from day to day. And gosh darn it, live it. I am trying.

B: Get renter's insurance asap.

C: Keeping the bourbon under the sink.