Fish out of Water
Aug. 20th, 2009 01:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
attackfishOut here in the real world, our well is broken. More accurately, part of the contraption that brings water from the well to the surface is broken, so we have no running water, and though I'm an eco-conscious desert dweller, I feel like a literal fish. It's unbearable; last time I had to endure this same wish my gills would just disappear was two years ago when we had to shock our well.
I'm spoiled and so indulged by the modern affluent world, for living without running water, even with clean drinking water in big plastic jugs is making me willing to curl up in a small ball in the corner and weep faintly until such time as archaeologists find my desiccated corpse. All because I can’t have a shower.
Not even. All because I have to drive across town to my uncle's to have a shower, and a perfectly good shower at that.
And dear God is it a good shower. He has amazing water pressure. It shoots out of that shower head like a canon blast. Relentlessly pushes me into the back wall of the shower, it does.
Mom: I'm going down to my brother's to do laundry, dishes, and shower, want to get a party together?
Fish: A bathing party? You know, usually I don't go in for that sort of frivolity, but given the circumstances...
Mom: You know what I mean, Like the Donner party.
Dad: What, you mean we're going to die on the way? Sounds like fun, let's go.
Fish: Whatever people. Party down like it's 2007!
In the midst of this, Rose came to visit, to provide aid and comfort, but mostly to poke me with a stick until I made her laugh (though she paid for sushi, and understood my craving for the big chunk of salmon sashimi, sans soy sauce, which makes up for everything). Plus she complemented me.
Rose: I want you to teach me to cook. You're my favorite cook other than my mom, and you know, she's got that mom thing going on.
Fish: Um, thank you, you're lucky, you know, my favorite cook isn't my mom. The disasters from her hand...
Now, my mom can bake like nobody's business, and I can't. Just so we're clear.
Rose: I don't want to know.
Fish: Did I ever tell you about her tofu lasagna?
Rose: Yes
Fish: Or her sushi rice? Drenched in vinegar and made into pickled rice soup?
Rose: No, do tell.
Fish: erm, that's all really.
Oops.
Rose: I made sushi rice once. My sisters and I have perfected this technique, by which we disguise kitchen mishaps by pretending it's so good we have to eat it all and thereby destroy all the evidence!
Fish: Clever. Mine just go across the street to the coyotes.
We keep a jar of kitchen waste next to the sink, and I run it down to the open field across from the house once a day, unless extraordinary circumstances intervene.
Fish: Hey Mom, I’m taking the kitchen bowl out, be right back.
Mom: wait, didn’t you do that an hour ago? Was that smoldering mess going to be your lunch?
Fish: Heh heh, whyever would you think that?
Of course the main flaw with Rose’s technique is that all her sisters know.
Rose: *shovels sushi rice into her mouth*
Rose’s Sister: That bad, huh?
Rose: You have no idea.
In other news, I have a twitter account now.
I'm spoiled and so indulged by the modern affluent world, for living without running water, even with clean drinking water in big plastic jugs is making me willing to curl up in a small ball in the corner and weep faintly until such time as archaeologists find my desiccated corpse. All because I can’t have a shower.
Not even. All because I have to drive across town to my uncle's to have a shower, and a perfectly good shower at that.
And dear God is it a good shower. He has amazing water pressure. It shoots out of that shower head like a canon blast. Relentlessly pushes me into the back wall of the shower, it does.
Mom: I'm going down to my brother's to do laundry, dishes, and shower, want to get a party together?
Fish: A bathing party? You know, usually I don't go in for that sort of frivolity, but given the circumstances...
Mom: You know what I mean, Like the Donner party.
Dad: What, you mean we're going to die on the way? Sounds like fun, let's go.
Fish: Whatever people. Party down like it's 2007!
In the midst of this, Rose came to visit, to provide aid and comfort, but mostly to poke me with a stick until I made her laugh (though she paid for sushi, and understood my craving for the big chunk of salmon sashimi, sans soy sauce, which makes up for everything). Plus she complemented me.
Rose: I want you to teach me to cook. You're my favorite cook other than my mom, and you know, she's got that mom thing going on.
Fish: Um, thank you, you're lucky, you know, my favorite cook isn't my mom. The disasters from her hand...
Now, my mom can bake like nobody's business, and I can't. Just so we're clear.
Rose: I don't want to know.
Fish: Did I ever tell you about her tofu lasagna?
Rose: Yes
Fish: Or her sushi rice? Drenched in vinegar and made into pickled rice soup?
Rose: No, do tell.
Fish: erm, that's all really.
Oops.
Rose: I made sushi rice once. My sisters and I have perfected this technique, by which we disguise kitchen mishaps by pretending it's so good we have to eat it all and thereby destroy all the evidence!
Fish: Clever. Mine just go across the street to the coyotes.
We keep a jar of kitchen waste next to the sink, and I run it down to the open field across from the house once a day, unless extraordinary circumstances intervene.
Fish: Hey Mom, I’m taking the kitchen bowl out, be right back.
Mom: wait, didn’t you do that an hour ago? Was that smoldering mess going to be your lunch?
Fish: Heh heh, whyever would you think that?
Of course the main flaw with Rose’s technique is that all her sisters know.
Rose: *shovels sushi rice into her mouth*
Rose’s Sister: That bad, huh?
Rose: You have no idea.
In other news, I have a twitter account now.
