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the_dala at 12:49pm on 09/09/2007
the_dala at 12:49pm on 09/09/2007This glorious day, the 9th of September, marks the beginning of the football season at hallowed FedEx field, which means that it's officially fall in my book. Insofar as my parents are ever willing to give up one of their precious tickets, they certainly weren't willing to budge on the opener. So I whined and I pouted and I waxed lyrical about how much I loved football, and while this did not win me a ticket, it did guilt my mother into providing me with food as a substitution. Game day foods - ranch dip, fruit salad, and Woodchucks Granny Smith - as well as a large, delicious, frozen margherita pizza from California Pizza Kitchen.
So I take the pizza out around noon, preheat the oven, and stick it on the rack like the directions say. I hear some hissing sounds a few minutes later and discover that an of the pizza has falled off between the slats and is dripping on the bottom of the oven. Attempting to reposition it doesn't do much good, so I stick a cookie sheet under it and go back to my Fraser history of warrior queens.
This was too little, too late, because when I look up again, smoke is freaking pouring out of the burners. I immediately turn the oven off, but I'm too afraid of the clouds of smoke that issue from the open over door to actually remove the pizza, and anyway it's already done its damage. I turn on the fan, open the kitchen door and dining room window, and run around freaking out for a bit. Ralphie comes downstairs to stare at me imploringly to make it stop. I was terrified the smoke alarm would go off, but fortunately the smoke dissipated fairly quickly, and no further pizza-induced mishaps were had.
Still. I did almost burn the house down in celebration of my favorite season. There's something vaguel pagan about that, don't you think?
So I take the pizza out around noon, preheat the oven, and stick it on the rack like the directions say. I hear some hissing sounds a few minutes later and discover that an of the pizza has falled off between the slats and is dripping on the bottom of the oven. Attempting to reposition it doesn't do much good, so I stick a cookie sheet under it and go back to my Fraser history of warrior queens.
This was too little, too late, because when I look up again, smoke is freaking pouring out of the burners. I immediately turn the oven off, but I'm too afraid of the clouds of smoke that issue from the open over door to actually remove the pizza, and anyway it's already done its damage. I turn on the fan, open the kitchen door and dining room window, and run around freaking out for a bit. Ralphie comes downstairs to stare at me imploringly to make it stop. I was terrified the smoke alarm would go off, but fortunately the smoke dissipated fairly quickly, and no further pizza-induced mishaps were had.
Still. I did almost burn the house down in celebration of my favorite season. There's something vaguel pagan about that, don't you think?
relieved