Trash Fridge the Finale
Just like that weird song based off of those bible verses, there is a season for everything before you have to turn on it (or something?). And this was the season to empty out trash fridge. The fridge was so fecund with trash that it really couldn’t accommodate anymore even if I had wanted.
I gathered some support:
And faced my figurative, and more than likely literal, demons.
The heavenly light is like a taunt
Did I mention that there is a freezer that came with my refrigerator?
cause there is
Things were relatively fine. I managed to wage war with an oozing black liquid that reminded me of Hexxus from FernGully: The Last Rainforest
Remember me? I was just in hiding again
But like every war there is a particular battle that essentially determines the winner. And when it came to the final foe in The War of the Garbage Fridge (2011 -2013) I honestly couldn’t be sure who was going to come out the victor: me or vegan chili in the back of the fridge.
Before you start looking at following pictures, please play the following song.
But at the end. What was once filled with only garbage was left, a little shaken, a little barren, but filled with some edibles:
And this was the only expression I could think of that would accurately sum up really the whole experience.
Spot is letting me know that the person I truly let down was myself
Filed under apartment, food
It’s the final week of working at my job after getting the lay off notice six months ago. In efforts to appear supportive, the team that is replacing us sent us a gigantic fucking card thanking us…for our jobs. Which are now their jobs.
To paraphrase a co-worker, how dare they use cats to further their agenda?
But then those Canadian bastards raised the bar on emotional (and…in a way physical) manipulation.
They collaborated with a bakery in Philadelphia to send us all fancy cupcakes
which I handled with my typical self-restraint. I took two and am circling the remainder of them like a shark around a wounded seal
My heart melted.
Until I of course remembered that with a paycheck I could just buy my own damn cupcakes. I will not be satiated by a gift of fancy cupcakes (physically yes, and to a degree emotionally, but not monetarily). I know your tricks, Canada
Take to the internet
Listen up, Canada, I’m coming for you. And when I say “you” I mean:
Real Canadian heroes
Actually, I’m just going to take another cupcake and curse you.
I once updated about my undying love for White Russian. Here . And maybe, just maybe, I also wrote another sorta intense letter that can be found here .
And today I got this in my email:
Thank you Jesus, and Ben, & Jerry
I would like to think that this is solely because of my determination. And emails. And letters. The trip up there to mourn at the graveyard. And threats.
So thanks for taking notice Ben and Jerry, it had been too long.
And in case you thought I was exaggerating, this is a real life exchange:
You’re welcome fellow White Russian fans.
For the last month I’ve been canvassing my work’s freezer in order to steal any frozen meals that might be in there to sustain me during the summer of my unemployment.
As far as I was concerned it was a brilliant plan.
Freezer #1 – normal looking, filled with steal-ables
Freezer #2 – second verse, same as the first (only better, this one has yogurt).
Look at all of that delicious (sort of delicious…free makes everything delicious, so whatever. It’s edible) food.
And then a mysterious wrench was thrown in my plan
Right there? That’s six frozen Stouffer’s Cream Chipped Beef ready meals. Six. Six of them. The day before there was NO food in that freezer. The next day? Six. And of something that traditionally isn’t even a food eaten outside of breakfast. Also, it’s gross looking.
And they’ve remained in there for over a week. They all arrived in one day and not a single one has been consumed.
So now I can’t be sure that my two office nemeses haven’t heard my plan to steal all of the food (I wasn’t exactly speaking in hushed whispers about my malfeasants) and brought in all of this chipped beef in which to poison me.
I’m still going to steal it though.
UPDATE Three of the creamed chipped beefs are now gone! (May 20, 2013 10:23 EST)
Have you ever opened a tin of leftovers only to find the tables’ worth of cutlery inside because the previous week during a “cleaning spree” you had thrown away all of your previously owned knives and forks (let’s be fair I only owned one of both, but still it was trying to eat pasta without them)?
Tofu burrito, fries, and cutlery. Huzzah!
Thank you, Mad Mex, I don’t have to eat pasta with my hands this week.
Filed under cooking, food
From my very limited understanding of history, the last days of Rome were a rough place to be: hedonism, theft, moral malaise. And while I gathered these opinions about the civilization’s decline following a less than five minute Google search, I can confidently say that my declining juncture at my job is probably similar.
Or maybe not. But I am stealing everything that isn’t nailed to the ground. The most eccentric theft to date pertains to my aggressive love of hot sauce.
Some nice person left out a communal hot sauce for the lunch room, and while I appreciate the spirit of generosity I more greatly appreciate free condiments. However, I couldn’t just take the bottle of hot sauce in broad (albeit florescent) daylight. So, I did what every crazy person would do.
I dumped half the bottle of hot sauce into the remains of a Herr’s pretzel bag
And my lunch then consisted of:
it consisted of pretzels, a bag of stolen hot sauce in an old pretzel bag, and – what the hell – I stole a packet of cream cheese for the fun of it
Next up: trying to thieve the vending machine.
And once again, these are the search engine terms that direct people to this blog:
such tales are great classics. My masturbation tale the most so.
Which refers to this
And for the record, my coming of age (no pun intended) story of wanking off has generated an unusual amount of hits. Thanks Daniel Defoe!
And this person who was looking for an awful lot out of their chips:
my chips didn’t vibrate but you can go to 7-11 for the second best option
Which refers, of course, to this
Thanks for visiting, whoever you are, you made my week.
Rut roh. Do you remember when I set my nachos on fire and threw them out of a window? (I do!). Well, a shocking revelation has unfolded.
My friends are the sort of people that would mourn nachos
The truth is revealed. There is a chance that maybe, several years ago, I put Triscuts and cheese (“nachos”) in the broiler and left them in there for about fifteen minutes. Opened the broiler only to discover the entire mass in flames. And promptly closed the broiler. I then deferred to an adult about the fire I just started.
BA hijinx never forgets…
he also reinterprets artistic You Life works
I am going to star in a Lifetime original movie called, “The Littlest Arsonist.”
And, for the safety of all, I should probably retire from my job as a nacho/Triscut/cheese cook.