Nov 13

The Flaming Wok: a Murder-Suicide Near-Miss

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I feel as though I owe all of humanity a deep and heartfelt apology for my very extended absence, but it’s actually been very good for me. For anyone who doesn’t already have the 411 from stalking my personal Facebook, I got a new job. A couple, actually.

  • No longer am I freezing my ass off on winter days to show apartments to spoiled college kids that never show up.
  • No longer am I mediating roommate disputes for grown ass adults.
  • No longer am I dealing with constant, idle threats of lawsuits from clueless parents, unpaid overtime and verbal abuse from my employer, or that general feeling of dread at opening my eyes every morning.

No longer am I working in property management.


I “Woohoo’d” so hard that I got fined by the NFL for excessive celebration.

I decided that my mental well being was well worth a paycut, and I accepted a job with another management company (that also does some property management, but without an iota of help from yours truly) as the executive assistant to the president. I also work in the Rural/Affordable housing department in compliance. (On a side note, I’ve gotten some very promising referrals for massage therapy as well.) Needless to say, I’ve spent the past 3 months trying to keep my head on straight while I get the hang of everything, and I’ve only recently started to realize some breathing space.

I can’t promise a 3x/week update, but I’m back from the dead!


Today’s update comes to you from the murder machine I married. Thanks, Honey!


We decided that beef with broccoli might be nice for dinner last night, and we all know how my husband got married just so he could stop eating vegetable (please don’t ask me to explain his logic), so I jumped at the opportunity to get him to eat something moderately healthy. I got the wok out and oiled, and left it to heat up while he started making rice. A few moments later, he called out from the kitchen, “Is the wok supposed to be smoking?”

“Yes. It’s a wok. High heat is kind of its thing.”

“Oh. Well, it just caught fire.” He delivered the line deadpan. Very matter of fact. No panic whatsoever. So I walked into the kitchen to check on its progress, assuming that he’s just being the usual charming smartass only to find that there are, in fact, flames shooting into the air from the wok as he is holding the damn thing by the handle.

Like this, but bigger.

Like this, but bigger.

“Don’t just stand there, man! Dump some baking soda on it!”

“Oh. Can you get it for me?” Still no urgency.

I grabbed the baking soda from the pantry, unceremoniously dumped a healthy amount in the wok and watched the fire snuff out, before he set the pan down.

Right back on the burner.

Which was still set to high.


“Put it in the sink, Ken!”

He carefully placed the wok in the sink and turned back to turn the burner under the rice off, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the other burner was still on and glowing a nuclear shade of red, and the wok is still emitting foul black smoke in the sink behind him.

“Ken… Run some water in the pan.”

By the end. our house was filling with black smoke, and we had the patio door open to clear out the apartment with 28 degree air, there was baking soda dust everywhere, and the fire alarm is going off.


You know, I always joke with my husband that his inexhaustible supply of ratty t-shirts and aversion to shaving makes him look like a dirty hobo. Go figure that he’d cozy up to a barrel fire right there in our kitchen. Baby needs an E-Z Bake Oven.




And finally, I leave you with an inappropriate anecdote from the Queen and myself:

Queen Inappropriate, talking about one of her monster dogs: She’s just a terrible dog. She’s chewed up 2 pairs of panties, 2 pairs of pants, a top, one of Jay’s shoes, a pair of headphones that she literally opened a drawer with her mouth and took out the headphones, the single Burberry shoe, the single Prada shoe, and one Ugg.
Me: She should be commended for the Ugg. Get that dog a pupcake.
Queen Inappropriate: it was a slipper. Don’t judge me, slut.


Happy Hump-Day, boys and girls! Bonus points go to the person with the most creative humping picture.


  1. Valerie

    I am not only ecstatic that you are back, but ecstatic about your new job!!!! You so deserve it!

    Also, the above post is exactly why I’m not allowed to play with fire


    Valerie recently posted..If you never hear from me again, it’s because the dolls have taken my soul to hell. Please send help… And White Castle.My Profile

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