Nigella Lawson, I'm not

So, I've been living in this apartment for 11 months and two weeks now. Back in week one, way before I even found the supermarket, I decided to make pasta for dinner one night, using a box of spaghetti and jar of tomato sauce that Ted had left for me in the cupboard. When I went to boil the water on the stove, though, only gas came out, no fire. Perplexed, I dumped the water in the sink and called for takeout.

I asked around to my neighbors and my landlord, and the general consensus was that my pilot light must be out. My landlord suggested calling the Gas company to come over and fix it, but the idea of spending a Saturday waiting for them never appealed to me; so, I've spent the last 50 weeks microwaving Lean Cuisines and frankly, not minding at all. Because I don't have a dishwasher, home cooking would be that much more of a chore, and well, I lived off Boca Burgers for 6 years - these microwave dinners are culinary bliss in comparison.

But okay, once in a while I do get the urge to bake Toll House cookies, and I sometimes get invited to dinner parties in which I am expected to bring something homemade; then there are also times when I think to myself, I'm going to be 30, and the thought of living for a year without a working stove is just depressing. I mean, how am I ever going to land a man if I can't whip up a spell in the cauldron?

With a little good natured (guilt) pressure from my mother (thanks Mom!) who is coming to visit this weekend, I finally got on the ball and asked my handy neighbor to take a look at my stove. There, flickering in the dark, were all my pilot lights in working order. The burners needed a bit of encouragement from my lighter in order to reach their flame potential, but flame they did. While it might not be the best working stove in LA, it does work, and now I'm going to have to find a much more creative excuse for not cooking.

Hey, I still don't have a dishwasher...