When I’m busy, my house goes to shit and I am busy most of the time.
This is usually awful because it means there is typically one day in a month that unfolds as follows.
I wake up roughly 12 hours after I have finally passed out from ultimate weariness. This may or may not be in my bed. (I'm looking at you extremely sleepy-making toilet!)
Upon rising, I begin to shiver because I have sweated through my clothes (SEXII) and stretched out the neck of my sleep T-shirt in the process. I will then, like Charlton Heston at the end of "Planet of the Apes," look around my apartment in abject horror. I witness such sights as my cats playing catch with the dust balls dancing around the floor.
There’s less-cute filth too. Stuff like a mysterious ring in the toilet (you see it, and then die, or so I am led to believe thanks to modern cinema.) There’s a dirty dish hidden beneath a sofa feeding a family of decent, hard-working roaches. “I’M A MONSTER!” I will at this point yell, much in the manner of Buster Bluth.
I thought that because I fell behind in housekeeping sometimes it meant I was lazy. Now that I’m day job free*, I clean more. Not because I’ve got more time for it really, but because it turns out that I lack an ability to sit still when I am not actively being paid to do so. I wasn’t lazy -- I was motherfucking hustling, son! I got used to the frantic pace of doing not just a job to pay my rent, but doing three other jobs for love. With one job to contend with now -- a job I love** -- I've got excess nervous energy seeping out of my pores. End result: My house is cleaner.
With the day-to-day filth tackled, I’ve moved on to more anal retentive pursuits, though sadly, no anal play. I’ve cleaned out my fridge between writing assignments. I’ve organized my shoes. Is this just the glorious temporary insanity of a person whose routine has changed, adjusting to the shape of their new life? Probably. But will I make full use of this mania while it lasts? Damn. Straight.
Today, I started working in the kitchen, identifying shit that makes no sense for a person to own. Purchases that scream, "At what point was this a good idea?" You know, the culinary equivalents of that pair of neon mesh panties a size too small we all own. Or maybe that’s just me? I’VE SAID TOO MUCH AND STILL NEVER ENOUGH.
To inspire you to springtime organization, or the best use of your temporary unemployment-induced mania, here are five things I found in my kitchen whose purpose remains questionable at best.
1.) A Meat Tenderizer
At some point in my culinary career, I apparently thought I was going to smashing the holy hell out of several meats on the regs. I can’t remember myself in the store going, “Oh yes, this will go with nicely with the eight million cutlets I will be making almost daily,” but I guess it happened. I would only keep this around if I had some secret ultra-violent murdering to do. Which I don’t. FOR NOW.
2.) This Egg Beater
WHAT CENTURY ARE WE IN THAT I HAVE AN EGG BEATER STILL? Like, this is beyond unnecessary. Plus it's not as though I have an emotional attachment to it. It's not my grandmother's or anything. If I wanted something to remember her buy I'd just wear a pack of Kents around my neck. Also, I have forks! And a Kitchenaid! This is only worth keeping if I plan on torturing my future-children by insisting that they whip up some egg whites into stiff peaks USING ONLY THE BEATER. “So help you if you go past stiff peaks,” I’d glower, “So. help. you.” Good-bye forever, dumb thing.
3.) Some Stainless Steel Cleaner.
I’ve gone nuts about home cleaning before. But nuts on a whole other level. We’re talking this-stainless-steel-all-needs-to-gleam-or-else-my-life-has-no-meaning kind of home cleaning bender. Apparently in the throes of that, I brought this product specifically designed to cleanse stainless steel? I’m kinda anti the big guns chemically speaking in the kitchen, plus there are so many easy, natural ways of cleaning your stainless steel that having this around is beyond pointless. Although I like the retro label. I suspect this has stuck around only because I worry about how to dispose of it without accidentally turning the sewer reptiles into croco-pegasi, my second biggest fear after dinosaurs that can live in outer space.
4.) The Saddest Onion In The World
Onion. I am so sorry this happened to you. I bought you for a purpose and then forgot you and then bought more onions. Look at you with your resilient spirit, tendrils reaching for the sky, even as your formerly delicious bulb rots to nothingness. You deserved better. Maybe I will kill you with the meat tenderizer.
STAY CLASSY CRISCO! I always, straight-up ALWAYS, have Crisco in my pantry because once a year I make a cookie recipe that calls for it and also even though this is inaccurate, I have decided it never expires. Since no one has ever died from consuming the cookies of which I speak, it must be so -- that’s science, guys. I didn't almost fail my college required "chemistry and art" class, so I know what I'm talking about***.
Sometimes I use it to prop up cook books. Sometimes I lather my entire body with it and slide across my kitchen floor. You know, normal shit. If Crisco were a person it would be an affable drunk who hugged too hard and whose crack was always showing. Ha, ha, I will never throw it away. NEVER.
What weird junk do you have in your junk drawer?**** Do you get a little overly house-proud when you’re transitioning life wise? What’s the grossest mess you’ve had to clean up in your apartment? SHOULD I START WRITING WEEKLY "COOKING WITH CRISCO" COLUMNS FOR THIS VERY BLOG?
**Rat-catching, I kid. It’s writing obviously. But I mean, if you have rats, I have played Mousetrap innumerable times and am pretty confident I will not get or spread the Bubonic Plague.
***Look. It was challenging, okay? Though we did get to go to a paper factory. That was pretty okay.
****This is also me coming on to you.