In the Night Kitchen it ain’t.

November 18th, 2007

Our oven died a couple of weeks ago. Stove still works, but Tim declared the oven dead earlier last week after a couple of valiant attempts to repair it.I can’t say I’ve ever bought a stove before. Oh, I mean range. Apparently, that’s what they’re called. Our current carcass of a range came with the condo when we purchased the place.

In my fantasy, I’d get some kick ass Viking. (Range, that is.) But, it’ll probably more likely be some sensible best buy according to Consumer Reports. I like to think I’m saving the Viking for the house we’ll move into someday. Although, living in Santa Barbara, it might still be a while… At least until house prices start falling below $1 million. And that’s for a very modest house. Seriously.

It’s frustrating to know that the value of our ~950 square foot condo would be a McMansion elsewhere in the country. sigh.

Not having a working oven meant I had to buy the cupcakes for Sofia’s birthday party. I ended up buying WAY too many. I dare say after this weekend, I may never eat another cupcake again. I’ve totally ODd.

Similar thing happened to me and donuts back in the late 80s…

One summer, I worked two jobs trying to make bank to go to Shanghai to study my sophomore year in college. Day job was a postal carrier. They were some award-winning outfit for being speedy and efficient, or something like that. What it meant for me was that I had to CARRY 50 lbs of mail on my back, AND all of the flat mailings in the crook of one arm, walking around to deliver it from house to house. (Did I mention it was summer? In Kansas City? Where it gets, like, 100+ degrees in the shade?)

It was the job from hell. (So I thought until I actually found the job from hell. I’m getting there…) I vividly recall one day finding myself at the end of a cul-de-sac… I flung my bag down on the ground, followed by my body in spread eagl formation, and thought to myself that if buzzards found me now, it would be just fine with me.

I was in great shape that summer though.

So, yeah, donuts. I got a night job working at Winchells donuts. I was the only one that worked the night shift, and I was responsible for making ALL of the pastries for the next business day. Lifting 50 lb vats of flour. Weirdo night people coming in. (Cops, too, natch.) There was a little window above my work table so people could watch me make stuff… Like I was a zoo exhibit or something.

Well, that job lasted about 2 weeks. I just. couldn’t. stand. it. any. longer. One day before going in, I stopped at a drug store along the way, purchased some bandages and gauze, and wrapped my arm up. When I showed up for work, I had concocted some lame excuse about having burned my arm, so I couldn’t possibly work around ovens and vats of hot stuff. They put me on an afternoon shift, anticipating I’d go back to nights once I healed. After about 3 days of that, I just never showed up again. When it came time to pick up my last check, I drove ’round and ’round until the manager’s car was clearly gone.

Never before nor since have I left a job so poorly. How lame was I? Why couldn’t I just say, “This job sucks… audi!” I still regret leaving as lamely as I did, but, admittedly, only a little. Because it sucked.

Very importantly, the whole thing brought to light for me the ”not wanting to disappoint others” disease within me. Still working on that.

Anyway, so, yeah. I didn’t eat donuts for years afterward, and still not all that inclined to now.

And now cupcakes. How sad is that?

Poor little cupcakes. They intended no harm.