Move Over Mr. Clean

Since I am currently looking for work and no one wants to hire me to put my contacts in, I've had to find other things to keep me from pulling my hair out, rocking in a corner, etc. This is harder than it sounds. As much as I love to play Sudoku on my phone, more than an hour a day actually reverses the desired effect- instead of more logical and aware, I become less logical, and suddenly I'm living for those little boxes and the feeling of completion and total fullfillment that comes only with 9 little sets of 9 numbers, arranged so every row and column contains no repeated numbers. Even now, just typing that, I am tempted to stop typing... but I digress...

I've tried to watch the entire series of Ab Fab, but for anyone who doubts that excess can be excessive, I dare you to watch Ab Fab for more than 3 hours. I double dog dare you. By 2.5, you'll be so tired of hearing "sweety darling" and quite frankly, watching 2 drunk british women, your disgust will force you to turn it off. Perhaps it's hard for me to watch simply because I want to be working but don't have a job, and they have a job but desperately do not want to be working. In any case, I couldn't make it all the way through.

I've tried exercise, but lack of gym membership really puts a damper on my enthusiasm to work out. One can only do the plyometrics DVD from p90x so many times before one loses hope. And until today, it's been bloody hot out.

Of course, I'm still job hunting as well, but that hardly takes my mind off of not having a job.

No, I needed something else. Something like...

Housework.

At first, I was skeptical. I did a little bit of yard work because this yard needed a little bit of attention (actually, what it needed was a LOT of attention, a chainsaw and a weed whacker). I cleaned up a bit because we were having visitors over, and those visitors happened to be my parents, and my mom believes in maintaining a certain level of cleanliness (right beneath hospital sterile) for good living. (A note: this house hardly was/is dirty- but mothers being mothers, effort must be made)

And then suddenly, almost without warning, it was upon me.

Was that ME waking up and making the bed immediately? Only to be followed by loading the dishwasher and starting a load of laundry? What was happening?

Who knew keeping house could be so satisfying? I clean up the kitchen, keep the laundry some kind of caught up, make the bed, vacuum when the dog hair becomes a fine coat on the stairs. It's like the chores you had to do as a kid, only instead of them being chores you didn't want to do, now when you do them, it's like you have a job.

Let's be clear- it's not a job. It doesn't pay, there's no discount. But I don't have to go any where, I don't have to get dressed to do it, and I get immediate gratification for a) doing it and b) knowing that I'm the one who benefits from the fruits of my labor. So until there's something else to divert my attention, just call me Mr. Domestic.

The Food That Saved Me From Eternal Despair

Alright it's been a bit since I posted about food. And let's be honest, I really really love food. In fact, after I finished my last post, I realized that "eating" could also be something I got paid to do. (I also considered adding "drinking" to that list, but really, "drinking" professionally REALLY means you're A) a deadbeat B) an alkie or C) a writer, and while I had no problems identifying as the latter two, I didn't want to confuse the issue or the public by possibly being grouped with the former) I digress...

H'omigod. I had found the perfect job for me- Food Critic. How amazing would that be? I could eat food at restaurants (awesome), write about it (also awesome) and most importantly GET PAID (holy crap, awesome FTW!). For about 37 seconds I was pretty much not only going to have a job, but I was also going to award myself the Most Geniusest Genius EVER medal and about at least 50 Gold Stars.

And then, disaster struck.

Reality, that solidly built she-hulk in a faded floral print dress with runs in her hose, laid her massive clammy hand on my shoulder. Her large, fishlike lips moved. At first I thought she was hyperventilating, and then I thought the world was in slo-mo and I was dreaming and then I realized she was laughing at me.

And like 2-pack-a-day smoker, her voice crawled out of that mouth and into my head.

"Food critic? That's a laugh. There's only like seven of them alive and five of them live in the UK and Europe. Think again, bub."

Sigh.

I knew she was right. My shoulders slumped in despair as she lugged her way Lurch-ily into the background of my mind. Food critic jobs were hard to come by, and there might actually even be training or stuff you have to do before you can be one (I thought about researching this, but then decided it was better not to hurt my heart further). So, sadly I decided not to amend the list to include "eating." I didn't know what I was going to do with myself. Ever. Why was I even here? What was the point of living anymore?!?!

(This is pretty much my face at that moment.)







In my state of deep melancholy, I walked into the kitchen to get something to munch on. You see, there are people out there in the world who, when faced with stress or sadness, do not eat. They waste away, often tragically, to skin and bones. Sometimes, movies get made about them. Sometimes, they make the movies themselves. In any event, depression = thin.

I am not one of those sorts of people.

Faced with bad news, I go immediately to the loving support and comfort that only a drive thru window can provide. Carbs are my solace. Cheese is my joy. Despair, I banish thee in the name of all things good and true and sugary!

So, faced with reality's awful rebuke of my Genius idea (and aside from not even getting to be a Food Critic, I wasn't going to get the Geniusest Genius Award OR the Gold Stars- ugh, my life was clearly an #epicfail), the kitchen was the only logical place to go. I opened up the cabinet (oh dubbs, if you've been following since the beginning, one of my slothy roomies finally moved out- HUZZAH!) and looked bleakly at my options. 3 cans of beans, 2 cans of tuna, assorted spices and herbs, and a cup of applesauce. F.M.L. I was beginning to wonder how I could pull the blades out of my Mach 3 shaving razor and end it all.

I turned to the refrigerator. It was similarly bleak- pickles, cottage cheese, carrots, bologna. And then, just when I thought all hope was lost, I spied something small and red towards the back of the bottom shelf. It was a plastic lid on a round container. I reached in. Could it be? Was it? It WAS.



Hummus.

Hummus from above (or in this case, the back of the fridge).

Hummus, with it's smooth creamy texture and its delicious chickpea and garlicy taste. Easily a ranking food on the Greatest Foods of All Time Ever list, this treat from the gods (specifically the ones hanging out around the Mediterranean) suddenly made my day much brighter. I grasped the hummus and the carrots, tried to hold back my tears of joy, and dashed back into my bedroom. And even though I STILL didn't know what I was doing for a job, I had hummus.

My plate ranneth over.