It's probably pretty apparent to anyone reading this blog (especially if you've known me for awhile) that I'm somewhat lacking in common sense. I consider myself a pretty intelligent person, if you're talking about book-smarts, but when it comes to common sense even I'll admit that I have, well, none.
This occurs to me every time I do something incredibly stupid; something that would never happen to another person because other people tend to think about what they're doing. Me? I drift through daily chores, barely pay attention to what I'm doing, and then am surprised when I fuck up royally.
Well, not that surprised, to be honest.
My lack of common sense usually rears its ugly head in the kitchen. To quote Carrie Bradshaw, "The only thing I've ever successfully made in a kitchen is a mess. And several small fires."
While that's not entirely true (I can bake pretty much anything, provided it comes in a box, the ingredients are simple, and the box carefully outlines each step), it's pretty damn close.
Once I put a metal pot in the microwave. I didn't remember that you're not supposed to put metal in the microwave until I heard an explosion, opened the microwave and saw that the pot's handle had somehow fallen off. I'm still not quite sure why that happened.
Another time I pulled a 3 Muskateers bar out of the freezer and found it to be too hard to bite. So I stuck it in the microwave and walked away. The problem is I left the wrapper on. By the time I noticed the smell (which, by the way, is the most wicked of smells) the candy bar was unsalvagable. Mainly because the wrapper and the chocolate had fused together in an unholy alliance.
You're probably thinking I was like 8 when I did this, and I didn't know any better. I wish I could say that were true. I was 15.
The thing is, I don't learn. I'm always doing things like this. I can't tell you how many times I've pulled a pan out of the oven, set it down and then burned myself on it two minutes later because I forgot it was hot and I hadn't put an oven mit on.
Other kitchen mishaps? I put Easy Mac in the microwave, but instead of putting it in for 4 minutes, I put it in for 40. Another time I tried to make Easy Mac but didn't add enough water because I forgot to read all of the directions. Yet another time? I added too much water. Mmm, macaroni soup. You know what? Six-year-olds can make Easy Mac. Retarded monkeys can make Easy Mac. Yet I have a problem with it.
Once I cut myself on the stove. Yes, I said cut, not burned.
I tried to cook a pork loin on my George Foreman Grill, but I didn't thaw it out first. Yeah. Frozen pork doesn't cook very well. The outside of it was completely black and the inside didn't cook at all. Plus, the entire kitchen was filled with not-so-safe-looking smoke.
It's not just stuff like that, though. I don't know how to do things that to most people are second nature. I don't know how to brown meat; I don't know when it's done. I still can't bake a potato in the microwave that isn't either overdone or not cooked all the way. For a long time I didn't know how to make eggs. I'm happy to report that I can make delicious scrambled eggs, and sometimes I can make fried eggs but usually I either break them or they're overdone. Those are the only kinds of eggs I can make.
This lack of common sense doesn't pertain only to the kitchen. Oh, no. Once I climbed a billboard with my friend Stephanie. Then she climbed down. I noticed how long it took her to climb down and how it looked much easier to just jump. So I did. I didn't break anything (luckily) but I had to lie on the ground for a while to recover. While my "friends" stood around and laughed at me.
I think I've mentioned it before, but while putt-putting I got hit in the head with a golf ball. My own golf ball.
When I was taking driving lessons, the first time we came to a red light I asked the instructor (Tim) if I had to stop. When I was done with the lessons he told my parents that he didn't think I would pass the driving test. But I did. When I came out of the DMV and told my mom I passed, she told me, "Wow, I'm surprised, your dad and I thought you'd have to take it again. Thanks a lot, Tim. But I did pass. First try. Take that, you bastard.
Once my friend and I found a shopping cart in the parking lot where I worked. A normal person would have been able to see that it would not fit in the trunk of my car, but that didn't stop me from trying.
I used to work at a library, and one night it was storming so badly that parts of the ceiling started to leak. I noticed that it was leaking in the supply closet, where we stored a bunch of crap that was so cheap it wouldn't matter if it got ruined, but I went in anyway and started carrying the useless junk out. While I was in there, I noticed that the ceiling tile above me was starting to sag. Instead of, you know, moving, I just stood there and the tile broke and pieces of what looked like wet paper mache fell all over me.
I'm sure there are more examples, but these are the only ones I can remember that don't involve drinking. And since the best story that involves drinking is one my parents already know (how they found out is another example of my lack of common sense, but that's another story), I can tell it again.
It's tradition at Wittenberg to streak the Hollow (funny, the Wittenberg website Virtual Tour doesn't mention anything about this tradition). So one night, we did. I lost my bra. The next day, my friend Erin found it on the way back from class and hung it on the front door of my apartment. The end.