Hell, I Can Make It Anywhere, Even If I Am A Fuck Up

Oh yeah??? Well WE got the coffee maker!!!

You know, it's not like this is an ACTUAL divorce or anything, but with Emily and Jenny moving out this week, I've found myself wandering around our kitchen area and I can't help eyeballing what things are moving out and what things are staying. Pretty much, Jenny and Emily own everything and Liz and I have been living on borrowed toaster ... er, I mean time.

The kitchen table, the corner kitchen table, the cushy black couch, the two sets of shelves I never really used, the TV tray that doubles as a spaghetti spoon rester, the wok, the medium sized pot with all the burnt popcorn stains at the bottom, the small can-of-soup-or-chili-sized pot and its corresponding lid, the hot-water-for-tea ... uhh, maker, the bulk of the silverware, the bulk of the glassware, the bowls, half the plates, the bulk of the spices, the kitchen radio, the kitchen chairs, the shampoo I use, the dish towels, the pot holder.

And yes, the toaster.

All of that stuff is leaving us. So, what have Liz and I contributed to the cause? Well, the giant pot, four plastic plates, a bunch of knives, a couple forks, maybe a mug or two, a giant thing of crushed red pepper, a small thing of cayenne pepper, and the coffee maker. OH! And I bought the fucking meat thermometer! Yeah! We got the fucking meat thermometer! Take that!

It's almost like, instead of the children turning 18 and moving out of the house, it's like we turned 26 and the parents abandoned us. I'm pretty sure it's just going to be me and Liz, sitting on the dirty floor in the kitchen because Emily and Jenny own the broom, cutting ourselves while suffering from caffeine shakes thanks to the pot-after-pot of coffee we'll be drinking. It's a bleak future, and I for one am terrified out of my wits. Maybe we can take each other's temperature with the meat thermometer.

That's gross.

I'm going shopping this weekend. Here's the deal, I need to figure out what I can't live without AND what I'm willing to schlep with me when I move in a month.

I eat a bagel every morning for breakfast. I have knives, so those babies will be cut in HALF. And they will be spread with a variety of assorted cream cheese-based flavored schmears. But, do I want to buy a toaster? Is that something I want to have and pack and take with me to a place that will presumably already have a toaster? Especially since - even though it doesn't have a broil function - I could stick them in the oven for a few minutes and they'd probably crisp up enough.

I've wanted to buy a little pot for heating up cans of chili ever since I moved out here, because the one we have now doesn't have a handle that doesn't get scalding hot when you put it on the burner. But, there wasn't a too pressing need until now, and besides, we're all about not having too much stuff. So, I'm definitely getting one of those.

I never realized how multi-functional a wok is until I came here. In lieu of a frying pan, I've been able to fry things wok-style; I've also been able to make my pasta sauces in it while the noodles boil in Big Bertha Giantpot. I think I'll just break down and get one, because they're so cool.

As far as tables and chairs go, there's no point. That kitchen/front room area is going to be a barren wasteland. Maybe Jenny and Emily will leave AH chair and I can sit at the stove or eat off of the radiator. Maybe I'll kill a couple transients, chop them up, and fashion a table out of their bones and tendons. We'll see.

Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle means just so much more once you've experienced the grandness that is the White Castle Slyder. And I'm not talking about from a box in your grocer's frozen foods section, baked on a special steaming pan in your oven. I'm talking the real restaurant deal.

Since I don't have marijuana, and since I've yet to walk through Washington Square Park with money and courage to be approached by those selling, I couldn't get properly stoned to watch this example of classic film cinema. Wine was the next best thing. And a 40, from across the street, for a mere $1.59.

Either they don't make 40s like they used to, or I have developed some kind of sick tolerance, because it didn't do NEARLY the job it once did to me, in my formative drinking years.

But, the real coup was walking to White Castle and getting The Usual and walking it back to eat while movie-watching. Liz got some too, because she now suffers from The Crave. No onions.

The real question, though, as far as I can see it is: If I had to pick one - Taco Del Mar or White Castle - which would I choose?

Oh come on now! What kind of sick, demented question is that??? It's like I'm a mother and I have to choose between two identical twin babies I've just birthed! Only this is actually important because it's food!

What you can throw out in the wash right now is the fact that both will give you horrendous gas and horrendous shits. It's a casualty I accept. With that out of the way, we have things to consider. Price. A Jumbo Burrito and a regular drink is, I think, $6.46 or somewhere thereabouts. Ten White Castles and a regular drink is, I think, $7.21 or somewhere thereabouts. Though, I COULD get by on 8 White Castles, which brings the price down to a managable $6.06. That's pretty much a wash.

They're two different types of food: Mexican and Normal. One's made of pork, rice, beans, salsa, and sauce; one's made of hamburger (presumably), dehydrated onions, catsup, and love. The Jumbo Burrito generally comes with a small bag of chips; White Castles come with individually packaged open-ended boxes. Extra hot hot sauce is free and makes the burrito delicious. Extra regular catsup is free and makes the White Castles disgusting (they don't need no stinkin' extra catsup!).

I don't know! This is hard! Why do they have to be on opposite ends of the country? What do people do who live in areas that have neither? I almost wish I could be that ignorant, but I'm a firm believer that it's better to have loved and lost.

It's my dream, one day, to own a combined Taco Del Mar/White Castle restaurant. You know, like those KFC/A&Ws and those Taco Bell/Pizza Huts. Each week I'd switch the order of the names, so sometimes it would read White Castle/Taco Del Mar. In this dream, I'd weigh 900 pounds and my face would be one giant greasy zit and I'd have a tube coming out of my ass that connects to a toilet and I'd have a billion dollars so I could pay women to wash me while naked.