Oh where to begin. Maybe that the inside of my nose just itched, and I realized I have soot in both my nostrils. Yum. Ha, bet you wanted to know that. It gets better (and less gross), keep reading.
So I told my small group that this week I'd be bringing the infamous fruit pizza that is such a hit. I had all the ingredients, and I was ready to go. I went to turn on the oven to preheat while my roommates were cooking dinner. All of a sudden I hear Hillary (my roommate) say that the oven is smoking. It's happened before, but I thought I'd come check it out. It's intensely smoking. I'm already afraid of gas ovens, but this scares me more. So I go to my room to call my mom and ask her what to do. Parents have all the answers, right? Wrong. I tell her it's smoking too much, and go back out and it's smoking even more and there's ash falling from the smoke. So I start flipping out.
Of course, my mom does not know what to say, which stresses me out more so she puts my brother on the phone, who basically just tells me to call the fire department. So I hang up on him, call them, and we open the little broiler drawer thingy, and there it is one of those disposable tin pans flaming up a storm.
At this point, the whole apartment is dark because there's a thick smoke floating from about 2 feet off the ceiling. I tell them to dump water on it, and feel dumb for calling 911. I've never honestly done that in my life, called 911. Scary stuff, I'm telling you. So we decide to open the windows and wait it out outside.
I call up my aunty carole, carrie's mom, and ask her if I can come use their oven because I already had people's hopes up about this fruit pizza, it had to be there at small group. So she said I could come over. So I go back into the smoke filled apartment (yes, I'm that person) and gather up all my fruits and other ingredients, and my purse and head out to my car. Carrie calls me, I tell her I'm coming to her house to cook and she tells me I should pick her up. I tell her I'm on my way and hop in. I realize, once in the car that I left my makeup bag inside and was wearing no makeup (-maybe it's a sign).
So naturally, I grab my apartment keys and hop out of the car, habitually locking the door. Take note here: I only grabbed my apartment keys. I get not a few steps back towards our main door, when I realize I did not have my car keys in hand...and I'm pretty sure I remembered locking the doors. Great. There they were, sitting on the seat, doors locked...spares in my purse, along with my cell phone - also in the car. Better believe that's going to be changing soon (the spare). Carrie waiting on a street somewhere for me to pick her up when I was "just leaving". The only hope being that the moonroof is open a smidge, but not enough to comfortably fit an arm in.
So I go back in to the building, where my roommates are waiting out the smoke in the hallway with our neighbor from across the hall whom we scared by me standing with the door open calling 911 saying we had a "fire". Haha, poor girl.
Anyways, Hillary pointed out to me that we own a mop. Unfortunately, (and I only know from trying) the mop has a weird squiggee handle midway up the base of it, so it didn't fit in the small opening. I go back in, yet again and ask our new found friend from across the hall if she has a broom. She kindly lent me one. It was green.
I stuff pretty much the whole broom into the car, just barely holding onto the sweeping end as the other end taps gently and awkwardly at the heavy duty unlock button on the passenger's side. I couldn't control the whole broom well enough by just the bristles, so I somehow finagled my whole forearm in through this tiny crack and successfully unlocked the door to much of my relief. Calling AAA to have some dude unlock my car, not my idea of a nice tuesday night meant to be spent at small group, eating fruit pizza.
So I go to Carrie's, and her mom was so nice to let me abuse her kitchen. Then, their oven craps out. I was so close. I had the sauce mixed, I was cutting fruit, and the dough was already smushed on the pan. I had to then bring all the almost ready components to our small group house and bake it there.
It was a success, yet again. But I'm convinced some force of evil did not want me to make that fruit pizza.
When I arrived home, my roommates had cleaned most of it up, and told me there was soot everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I should tell them to blow their noses...
