With less than three weeks to go, I've not had this much pleasure in counting down the days to something since I was a kid and was excited for summer vacation to bring a respite from school.
And of course, it has much to do with Yoko.
Let me flash back to about a week ago when Yoko, who had several boxes of food sitting against the wall for months since her triumphant return, decides to do something with them. As any normal person would when they know they are leaving in a month, she opted to not only unpack them, but rearrange cabinets that have not been touched for over 2 years.
Mark has repeatedly told her that the day I leave, he's turning off the utilities so she needs to find somewhere to go. Apparently, he's putting the condo up for short sale or something but since it's siphoning money out of him left and right with no appreciation on it in the foreseeable future, he's letting it go. Can't say that I blame him.
Anyway, now when I go to look for something in the cabinets, it's moved, which kind of irritates me. It's not because I'm anal about that...it's just the principle of the thing. Why unpack when you have to pack again in a few weeks? But this is Yoko we're talking about...
So now when I go to search for a pan to cook with, I go to where I had things stored since I've been here--only to find several large containers of soy sauce and equal amounts of jars of crushed garlic.
I know...don't ask me. This, too, has baffled me since she never cooks.
Well...almost never.
You see, this morning I was jolted out of a sound sleep by the sweet dulcet tones of FIRE ALARMS!
Around 6am, I heard this incessant beeping both in my room and from a not too far off distance and, being the curious individual I am who doesn't want to be engulfed in flames at any point (much less at 6am), I ran out to see what was going on.
Yoko had decided to cook her favorite dish--eggs in a tortilla. When I noticed the door open and spied her fanning smoke away, I figured that everything was kind of ok, but kept an open eye for a while, snuggling against the wall to feel for the first signs of heat--a good indicator that flames are licking the other side of the wall from my bedroom.
I slept in until 8am so that I could awaken to walk the dog and saw the best part of the whole ordeal.
On the table was a plate with eggs and salsa, neatly wrapped in a tortilla and sliced in half, a drink next to it (presumably her weird alcoholic mixture of what Mark started to describe as vodka, half and half, some chocolate addition, Coke...that's actually where I asked him to stop telling me what was in it to prevent me from throwing up) and the TV on mute...
...with Yoko nowhere to be found.
At first I peered around to see if the word Croatoan had been carved into the wall, but there was nothing. No indication of a struggle or foul play (though I had deeply and evilly wished there would be) so, knowing her as I do, this is the conclusion at which I arrived...
Yoko drunkenly starts cooking her weird dish at a little before 6am, overdoes it (thus causing the smoke to bellow forth and set off the alarms), wakes everyone up and sets down to enjoy her meal. She puts the TV on mute as she gently slices the food in half and, while salivating, suddenly decides..."I've got to go to bed".
Now can all of you see why I'm looking forward to leaving?
Counting today...19 days to go!
That is unless I burn alive first...
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