The Gas Conspiracy

This post has been rated PG-18 because of the mentioning of the word VAGINA, ARSE, and SH** (which, I mean, to be fair, follows, neh?)

I'm on a roll!

Not of bread, slathered in cheese and tasty avocado chewies, no. But now that you mention it, perhaps that will be my next culinary adventure...

Speaking of adventures!

You are receiving this update in REAL TIME. This JUST HAPPENED. Ok then I guess it's real time plus like 15 minutes, neh? AnyHUE...the spaghetti I was speaking of in the previous post....it was happily boiling away in its little sufuria world, when suddenly something starts to splutter. I have never cooked before, yes? Or rather, my cooking experience is limited...and my gas et al experience is limited even further. The furthest association I have had with gas...canisters (the man at the supermarket called it a mtungi. I'm trying for as close to translation as possible. Haha no I'm not.) is carrying - or rather, trying to carry, them into the house. So when it spluttered, it was unusual that my first thought was "Oh no! Gas is over!" Because I have never actually...SEEN...this happen... *cough*

So I dash courageously (over a distance of about 7 feet) to the kitchen and alas! There is no gas for this lass (chuckles to self here)! The gas is indeed over. I open a window then light a match to check if it really is over, and, it is. Then I think ah SH** my spaghetti! I call Wolverine and ask what to do. He says go check how much gas is. I go. I, you must remember, have NO IDEA what gas is about. (and fortunately, I started cooking at like, 5, because I can take a minute, so the super was still open)

ME: Nataka kununua gas.
GAS DUDE: Unatumia gani?
ME: Um...
GAS DUDE: Ile ndogo ama kubwa?
ME: 13 litres.
GAS DUDE: (chuckling) (CHUCKLING) Ni kgs, si litres. ( I went back to check, btw, and it very CLEARLY says litres. Just saying. I had checked before.)
ME: Oh. Ok.
GAS DUDE: Sawa. Leta ile ingine.
ME: Oh. (having not realized that I was going to have to do this)
GAS DUDE: (noting confusion on my face) Unaweza lipa halafu nitume mtu akubebee na akuwekee kwa regulator *insert mumbojumbo gas jargon here, consisting of 'mtungi' and '6,500 ni ya hii kitu yote, 1,300 ni mtungi tu'*
ME: Ok.

I dash to the house again, heroine-like, and grab my wallet (don't ask) then go back, get the guy to bring the thing, and watch him install it, at which point in my head I am singing A Whole New World from Aladdin, and give him a 20 bob. Now to save the spaghetti! Which is making soggy vagina-like noises (I don't know how to write the sound. It's like a squelch. Or...say nynynynynynyny over again with lots of saliva). I am worried! I call Wolverine.

ME: It's soggy!
W: What?
ME: The vagina. I mean, the spaghetti. (Ha, I didn't really say the vagina. But, I mean, if you have a disclaimer, use the word, right?)
W: Then...throw it.
ME: But it's so much vag- spaghetti! (I didn't really say it that time either)
W: So now? Is some cooked?
ME: Yes.
W: Then separate the cooked from the not.
ME: It's all mixed in.
W: Um...
ME: W!!
W: Sorry.

I hang up, frantic, looking for a spaghetti resuscitator or something. (these conversations were very hard for me, as I do not enjoy calling people when I am cooking. As stated before. It is a SOLO MISSION!) So then I call @MuriMuriz.

M: Hello?
ME: SO THE SPAGHETI IS SOGGY AND I DON"T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND I HAD TO STOP HALFWAY BECAUSE THERE WAS NO GAS BUT NOW IT'S WEIRD. YOU CAN COOK. WHAT DO I DO??
M: What?
ME: Did you not here anything I said?
M: No, I heard everything you said, I did not hear the question.
ME: (doubtfully) Oh really. What did you hear?
M: Something something something you can cook, what do I do?
O___O
So she heard the question.
ME: Spaghetti. Soggy. SOS! (note the alliteration) (I also didn't actually say that)
M: Um...I don't know...I've never been int hat situation before...
Sigh. Life is hard out there for a spaghetti-cooking pimp.
M: Try putting a little water and put it back.
ME: Ok.

I did not have much faith in @MuriMuriz hesitant admission, so I went to Plan C: My (pretty much) favourite cook in the world, Chun-Li (yes. Like the warrior from Street Fighter whose movie sucked but generally kicked arse in the game) (That's not really her name. She just kicks arse...in the kitchen. Again, note the alliteration. Wow this post is long, neh. I keep saying neh because I just watched Trevor Noah and when he comes to Kenya, he must be able to identify my familiarity with his gigs by my lingo.)

CHUN: Hello, how are you, etc...
ME: HELP!
CHUN: What? What what what?
ME: Spaghetti. Soggy. SOS!
CHUN: Hmmm. NO PROBLEM IS TOO BIG OR TOO SMALL!! (she didn't really say that) Well, you know I believe in cooking spaghetti al dente (I immediately felt reassured by use of her complicated and impressive...Italian, neh?), which means (oh good, a translation) not for more than 9 minutes after which you run it under cold water to stop it cooking (spaghetti cooks AFTER you take it off the gas? Spaghetti is a BEAST...)...
ME: My spaghetti sounds like vagina.
*pause*
CHUN: PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA You're so funny. (I am though. :D) So what you do, rinse it in cold water, which will get rid of the starch, better known to you as the vagina sound, and then put it on the stove in boiling hot water for about three minutes, then take it off, rinse it, and maybe put a little butter (I could see she was about to start suggesting spices I don't have. My spice is, like, salt. Today I threw black pepper in everything. To mix the adventure up a bit.) and it should be good. (Oh! No spices!)
ME: THAAAAAAANK YOUUUUUUUU!!!

*does all the above except the after-rinse, notes a much less pervasive vagina sound and celebrates*

You can't die from raw spaghetti, right? It won't, like, give me salmonella or something, will it? Because I have eaten so much raw spaghetti and mince meat (although not nearly as much spaghetti) making this food...I feel...

Ah, bra. I haven't done the cabbage, neh.

tSN