Those who read me, know about the fire issues. No need to go there yet again or I risk boring you all so badly that you're going to find me and torch my place for kicks. Even I'll admit, that would be one hell of a show.
I've been meaning to pop on and tell you a ridiculous story about something that happened at a party I had on Friday night.
First, Crown and I had a party Friday night. Celebrating the visit of Dings, in for the weekend for her mom's bday. Was GTs all around. Since she was available to us in the Tdot for one night only we decided we might as well make an effort to show her a good time.
I'll admit that I somewhat selfishly hoped that she'd have so much bloody fun that she'd fly home to Van City, pack up the hubbie and pup, and move back to us next weekend. She didn't quite have that much fun. BUT I think we reminded her how we do in the Big Smoke, seen? She'll be back... oh yes... she'll be back. Nobody can resist the late-night-gay-Matty-dance-off for long. It's simply not possible.
Anyway, back to the fire story. Early on in the evening, shortly after the life of the party showed up - I'm refering of course to the one and only Scarbinator - I was cleaning up (shocking, I know) and she was settling in for a chat with our visiting guest of honour. I'm wiping, they're chatting. Wiping, chatting.
Suddenly there's a sound. A sizzling, frying, smoking, BURNING sound. I automatically look across the room at a collection of candles, certain that the blinds are going up, or the plant, HOY FUCK something is going up!! Keep in mind we're talking in nano seconds, I'm already near panic... when I hear a voice peep up from beside me... "Yo. I think your hair's on fire, fo' real."
Thanks Dynamus. You saved a life.
He was so right, Scarb's freaking HAIR CAUGHT ON FIRE. IN MY HOUSE. ON FIRE. Right in front of my face. Luckily I already had a coupie vodka-sodas in me and I handled it like a champ. Dings and I took turns slapping out out the flames and reassuring our fashionable friend that the damage was minimal. I even tried to convince her that it was a great way to get rid of any stray split ends.
She handled it like the true party girl that she is. I can tell it's not the first time she's set herself on fire, and you know, it's probably not the last. Respect for rolling with the punches and continuing to entertain us all night long with your hilarious self, Scarb.
And me? Well, I think I handled myself pretty well too. I promptly blew out all the candles, turned on the kitchen fan to air the joint out, poured myself a stiff one and got back to the fun.
I'll admit this here for you all though, the old neurotic Beaches reared her ugly head in the a.m. when I had to wash the reminants of Scarbie's burnt up locks from my dining room chair and floor. An ever so slight panic attack at what could have been, then a slightly larger panic attack at the state of my floors. At least we all know what neurotic behaviour of mine would win in a fist fight.
Scarb, they say these things happen in threes. I believe when it comes to close calls with fire, you and me are now at TWO? Crap.