Who needs a kiln?

So I've come to realize that I'm a danger to humanity. I was making dinner last night (chicken salad with pecans, dried cranberries, and since I was out of celery *gasp* (forgot I had used it all for the homemade tomato soup I made on Sunday - yum) I blanched some asparagus and cut it up - it was very good) and I thought that I'd toast the French bread under the broiler. It was good, thick French bread and I knew that if I broiled it the bread would have a nice crunchy outside and remain soft and warm on the inside. So I put a little butter on it and slid it under the coils, as I've done so many times (I like my sandwiches with melted cheese). I walked away to make replies to the IM conversations I was carrying on with Matt and James. Seriously, maybe two or three minutes I was gone, I swear. I head back to the kitchen, open up the oven, and my bread is in flames! Sincere, flapping flames, licking the broiler, lighting up the entire oven flames. I grab the nearest towel and attempt to pull the blazing mass out of the oven without setting myself on fire. I actually manage to do this and swiftly turn around and stick it under the faucet. Well, as it turns out the little butter daubed on prior, means that this was partially a grease fire. Yes, water made the conflagration just a little more angry. At this point I dropped the plate, swearing. Eventually the bread soaked through from the bottom up and the blaze went out. I just turned the oven off and walked away.

In slightly less dangerous news, I attended my first ceramics class. Yet again my attempt at friend-making has been in vain. There are two girls in high school and six-ish women at least twice my age. Which is fine, I was just hoping to meet people my age. Oh, and also, I suck at ceramics. Yes, I know it was my first time, blah, blah, blah. But really, I mean it. I suck at ceramics; I'm simply being honest here. All the other students were able to make their little pile of clay into a cone and then back into a mound smoothly. I struggle to make it into the cone, then the top half of the cone breaks off into my hands, or the whole 'demmed' thing parts from the wheel. And I've never been so dirty in my life. I just kept repeating, "It's clean dirt, It's clean dirt." Marginally, I suppose. There was clay layered so heavily on my hands that it would eventually fall off from its own weight. I was covered up to my elbows. I noticed today that I had apparently sat in clay and it was caked into the seat of my jeans. It was fun. However, to those of you I promised art: Don't hold your breath.

Briefly:

When your SUV is so freakin' big it sounds like the delivery truck I'm waiting for, it's too big. Go buy a Prius, you selfish gas-guzzling jerk.

I now know why fate dictated me to read Mismatch. Yesterday a kid came in asking for books on the Japanese occupation of China. Weird.