Sunday, January 10, 2010

MY MOTHER THINKS I'M THE DEVIL

I’ve never been one to toot my own horn, but I think it needs to be said – as far as children go, my parents had it pretty damn good. I was by no means a perfect kid, but...no, you know what? I was perfect. I never got in trouble at school. I always got straight A’s. I never defecated into anyone’s mailbox. I mean, seriously, what more could you ask for?

My mother though – let’s just say she was never convinced. My mom was constantly working under the assumption that I was secretly up to no good. Seeing me go straight to my room after school every day, she asked my twin if I was a “chronic masturbator.” I was studying (he told her “yes” anyway). When I lost 15lbs, she swore up and down that I had an eating disorder. The doctors would later inform her that I had Mono (which I’m sure she assumed I got from tonguing truckers at nearby rest stops).

Now, ten years later, I thought that she and I had moved past this – me being a responsible adult with a good job, my own place, and a fine assortment of neckties. I found out this winter break that I was wrong. She still thinks I’m the devil.

It was several days after Christmas. My friend Ryan had just gotten into town, and my brother and I decided to celebrate by taking him out for a couple drinks. We went to a bar down the street from my parents’ house. Feeling pretty toasty and in no shape to drive, the three of us decided to return and spend the night there.

When we got home, my mother was still awake. This is nothing unusual. Now that she’s retired, she stays up all hours of the night – like a high schooler on permanent summer vacation. I decided, being the ever-gracious host, that I should make a snack for everyone to enjoy. I looked into the freezer and found a large box of microwavable taquitos – which I’ll add, looked delicious.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I will admit that I was fairly intoxicated at this point in the evening. I quickly glanced at the directions on the side of the box, which instructed me to place five taquitos on a plate, and microwave on high for 15 minutes. “15 minutes,” I thought to myself. “That sounds about right.”

Ten minutes later I returned to check on their progress. My mother, who was sitting in the next room, perked up. “It smells like you’re burning something in there!” As I entered the kitchen, I saw smoke billowing from the microwave. “Uh…nothing’s burning” I said as calmly as possible. I opened the microwave door to 5 charred taquitos – barely recognizable as anything that was once edible. Baffled, I looked again at the box. 15 minutes for cooking in a convection oven – 2 minutes for the microwave.

The smell was rancid. I immediately opened all the windows in the kitchen and turned on the fan. My mother popped her head in to see what was going on, only to find me standing next to the open back door, waving a large newspaper furiously. “Nothing to see here!” I shouted.

She was not pleased. To say the least.

I placed the plate of charred remains out on the deck and aired the kitchen out as much as possible before skirting off to bed. I woke up early the next morning to assess the damage. The entire house reeked like something awful. The stench had permeated all three floors of the house. My hopes that the smell would clear up by morning were dashed. Furthermore, the once white innards of the microwave had now been turned to what Behr paint swabs would label something like "toasted marshmellow." As I scrubbed the inside furiously, my mom and dad came down from their room.

My dad shook his head. “You’re an idiot” he said. My mother looked at me and left the room without saying anything.

“Is she still mad at me?” I asked my dad.

“Yeah, she’s pretty upset,” dad told me. “She thinks you were high and that you have a drug problem.“

“WHAT!?” I screamed. Had I actually been high, that would have been one thing. But I never smoke weed! My opinion on marijuana has always been; why smoke up when beer is so cheap and readily accessible? Only my mother could interpret a simple culinary misunderstanding as a full-blown drug addiction. I just knew by her red eyes that she had been up the entire night, crying softly to herself as she pictured me shooting heroine in a dark alley – selling weed to rich public school kids to make enough money to support my insatiable hunger for drugs. Why had I ever suggested she start watching Intervention? And why did my brother have to buy her The Wire for her birthday?

“Maybe you should apologize to her and tell her you don’t do drugs,” my dad suggested.

“I did apologize!” I screamed. “I apologized like 20 times last night!”

Did you apologize?” my dad asked, “or did you say ‘mistakes are why God put erasers on pencils.’”

Yes, sure, I had said that. So I didn’t exactly have the strongest case for not being high, but come on!

To make matters worse, when Matt and Ryan woke up, I informed them of the situation. “What, did she find your bong?” Ryan yelled, as my mother sat in earshot. “She didn’t flush your stash did she?” He thought it was funny. My mother did not. She refused to talk to me the rest of the morning.

I stewed all day. Why did she always have to immediately jump to the worst-case scenario? I have always tried to be the perfect son. I call every week. I sent flowers on her birthday. Not once have I ever stole any appliances from the house. Are these things a druggie would do? Sure, I had fucked up. I’ll admit it. It was pretty retarded to put a bunch of tiny burritos in the microwave for 15 minutes. Clearly, I’m an idiot. But a drug problem? Where does she come up with this stuff?

I took a long shower to calm down. As I turned the water off, my dad – the constant mediator - knocked on the door.

“What?!” I screamed. “I’m naked! Go away!”

“I just want to talk to you.”

I put a towel on and opened the door.

“I talked to your mother and explained to her that you weren’t high. She knows you don’t really have a drug problem. She just worries about you. She’s a worrier. It’s how she shows love. It’s hard, with you being so far away. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Fine.” I said begrudgingly.

“Now, can we put all this behind us and enjoy the rest of our holiday?”

“Fine.” I said – still begrudgingly.

“Can I get a hug?” he said – not waiting for a response to wrap his arms around me.

“Dad?” I said trying to pull away. “Can we do this some other time – preferably when I’m wearing pants.”

“Yeah, this is a little weird.”

So with that – it was over. My mom and I kissed and made up, and my parents bought a new microwave. And we never spoke of it again. I know that this will not be the last time my mom dreams up some crazy scenario in her head. I can’t even imagine what the next one will be, and to be honest, I’m scared to even guess. But I know my dad is right. She does it out of love. And you know what they say about a mother’s love – it’s as permanent as the stench of burned taquitos.

Thursday, January 07, 2010

RICE CONCOCTION

My roommate recently sent me one of those “recipe exchange” emails. If you’ve been lucky enough to avoid them, here is an example of what one might say;

“You have been invited to be a part of a recipe exchange. You only have to send one recipe, so actually it is super fast and fun!1- person 1
2- person 2

First, send a recipe to the person whose name is listed in first position above, (even if you do not know them).

Second, copy this letter into a new email and move my name to the #1 position and put your name in the #2 position. Only your name and mine should appear in this list when you send it to 20 people you know.

If you cannot do this within 5 days, please let me know so it will be fair to those participating. You should receive 36 recipes.

Seldom does anyone drop out because we can all use new recipes.
Happy Cooking!”Had it actually seemed “super fast and fun” I would have considered participating, instead of immediately deleting it and making a mental note to throw a pair of dirty underwear at my roommate later (Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten Katy. I have not forgotten). But even though I totally blew it off, I found myself thinking about it a lot. It confused me. Particularly the line “Seldom does anyone drop out because we can all use new recipes.” In my head, the record player came to a screeching halt. “People actually cook different meals for themselves….every night??” I wondered. My brain just simply could not – cannot – wrap itself around this. Cannot.
I can honestly say, without exaggeration, that every time I have cooked myself dinner in the last seven months, I have made the exact same thing. The exact. Same. Thing. My roommate and I have dubbed it “rice concoction.” So, for all you out there lining up for new dinner recipes, here is a super fast and fun one that’s super delicious. Please Enjoy!


RICE CONCOCTION
Ingredients
½ cup Instant Rice (I prefer brown)
1 onion slice
1 green pepper slice
1 bowl of frozen vegetables (I’m really into the “Santa Fe Mix” right now)
Lite Soy Sauce (for flavor)

Directions

  • In a pot, add 1 cup of water. Heat on high until it boils. Add ½ cup of instant rice. Cook until done (Approximately 5 minutes, or right before it starts to snap crackle and pop. If you hear it snapping, crackling, and/or popping – you have failed bitterly.)
  • In a microwave safe bowl, add a cup of frozen vegetables with a splash of water. Heat on high for three minutes.
  • Slice a piece of onion and dice. Do the same with the green pepper. One whole onion and green pepper should last you for a week’s worth of Rice Concoction.
  • Add oil to sauté pan. As the oil heats up, fantasize about being on Top Chef. Tom Colicchio has just walked into the kitchen to see how you’re doing. “Everything’s good Chef!” You say to him. He looks over your shoulder. “Are you going to mix those frozen vegetables in with the fresh vegetables you’re sautéing?” He asks. “Sure am Chef!” You respond. He smiles and nods approvingly. Later, Padma will describe this decisions as “Risky, but innovative.” Guest Judge Michael Chiarello will agree. Toby will not, but no one cares what he says anyway.
  • Once onions and green peppers are sautéed, mix with the microwaved vegetables into the pan and heat for a few more minutes. Cook until flavor is gone.
  • In a bowl, mix the rice and vegetables. Cover generously with soy sauce – for taste.
  • Serve with a nice cold Coke Zero – preferably straight from the 2-liter bottle.
Now, I have made some slight variations to the recipe, as over the last 7 months, my palate has become more refined. When my hair began falling out due to a protein deficiency, for example, I added sliced tofu to the mix. (I would really like to stress though, that I am not a vegetarian. I am simply too lazy to cook meat.)
The saddest thing about all of this is, for Christmas my parents bought me a ridiculous amount of top-of-the-line pots, pans, knives, and other cooking utensils, all of which will only be used to make my flavorless gruel. Yes, I probably could try cooking something else. Maybe mix it up a bit. Throw in a taco night, or a spaghetti night every once and a while. Maybe make a salad. But I just don’t see a point. I’m a man of habit. I like rice concoction. I enjoy eating rice concoction. I find myself drooling when I think about it as I walk home from work. I’m not a picky eater by any means. I honestly cannot think of a single food I do not like. I’ll eat anything! But all I really want is rice concoction. And I figure, if it ain’t broke….

Oh – and incase you’re wondering – I also eat the same meals everyday for breakfast and lunch as well. But those are stories for another time.
You also may be asking wondering – What did Chris make before I started making Rice Concoction? It was called Noodle Concoction – and that too is another story for another time.

Monday, January 04, 2010

NEW YEARS EVE - THE WORST

If I were forced to rank all the important holidays, I would put my birthday as my very favorite (obviously), which would be closely followed by Christmas, and then Thanksgiving – which I enjoy due to its close proximity to my birthday. The list would work its way through Halloween and Easter, until at the very bottom, past Lee Jackson King Day and even Valentines Day, you would find New Years Eve. I hate New Years Eve. It is the worst. The very very worst.


I, in no way think this is a novel sentiment. Nor do I believe that I am the only one to feel this way. On the contrary, I think most rational people above the age of 12 and outside of New Jersey hate New Years Eve. It’s a terrible holiday, with entirely way too much pressure put on staying up until midnight. I stay up past midnight almost every night, and very rarely does this call for celebrating by downing a bottle of shitty champagne and vomiting into a bathtub.

This year’s seemed doomed from the very start. To simplify an overly complicated and entirely uninteresting story – I will give just the facts: my friends in New York are jerks who hate me and intentionally and maliciously excluded me from their New Years Eve plans. Why? Because they are evil and enjoy making me cry.* Well, I am very proud to say that as hard as they tried, I shed not a single tear. Instead I decided to spend my New Years with my friends back home in Virginia.

And things got a little out of hand.

The evening began at my parents’ home, where a group of us drank a few cocktails over a fine spread of hors d'oeuvres. Later in the night, we ventured down to a swanky restaurant conveniently located a few minutes down the block. 12 hours later, I awoke to a nasty hangover, and my friend Chase sleeping next to me. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I asked. He replied by pushing me off the mattress and falling back asleep.

The events from the previous night were nothing but a haze to me. The few of us that remained gathered over a warm breakfast, and my friends began to fill in the blanks.

The first fight I almost got into involved two young looking women who approached me when I went to the bar to buy myself a drink. One grabbed me by my shirt as I walked by and screamed “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” I wiggled my way out of her drunken grip without speaking a word. One of her companions – a young lady sporting a whole lot of cleavage – came up to me to apologize on behalf of her friend. “She’s an annoying bitch isn’t she?”

“Um….yes?” I responded.

“Yeah, I don’t like her very much. I think she’s annoying.” She continued. A young man came up behind her and added “Yeah! I don’t like her either!” They both smiled brightly as they bashed their friend. I remember the two of them both staring at me with gleaming eyes, waiting for me to confirm my dislike for their drunken friend who I had just met literally seconds before. I smiled politely and nodded, bought my beer and went on my way. I saw them later in the evening. The cleavage-sporting girl smiled and waved at me. I waved but said nothing.

According to my friend Chase, the young fresh-faced man who had shared with me his dislike for the drunken girl, grabbed him – his eyes no longer gleaming. “Are you with that guy?” He asked, pointing an angry finger in my direction. He was joined by another man, who seemed equally as perturbed. “You better tell him to stay away from our women. I hope he knows he’s hitting on two married ladies!”

“Yeah!” added the friend. “Tell your little faggot friend his gay little bowtie that he needs to back the fuck off of our wives!”

“I’m confused,” Chase responded. “Are you accusing him of being gay, or of hitting on your wives?”

Later in the evening, I received a text message from someone I had been on three dates with. It said “really???” I checked back to see what it was in response to. I had sent a text message 20 minutes before saying “I love you.”

The next morning, when looking for my phone, I noticed that the first person I had wished a happy New Year too was not my mother or father, my brothers, or any of my close friends. It went to a coworker who had quit and moved to CA a few months before. I wrote to her simply “I miss you and your boyfriend more than you could ever know.” I have no idea why.

The next fight I almost got into came a little later in the evening. At this point, alcohol had eroded away any rationale or logic left. I was simply a puppet, and drunkenness my puppeteer. As I walked through a crowd, I reached over and grabbed a stranger’s hat off his head. I didn’t take the hat with me. I just took it off his head and put it right back on, and continued walking. I have no idea why. I just did. And as soon as I returned his cap, I saw his large frame jump angrily off his stool. I decided that my best approach would be to continue walking – only faster.

I can’t really tell you what happened next - as I do not have eyes on the back of my head. I can tell you what I heard though. There was a lot of commotion – I believe a woman screamed. A stool was knocked over. A chorus of people yelled “WOAH WOAH WOAH!” I heard my friend Ian jump in between the charging drunk man and myself and yell “Back off dude!” Next, I heard the bartender jump over the bar and tackle the guy to the floor. By this point I was out the door, and still moving.

The man was kicked out. I was allowed to stay, but only after the bartended lectured me – telling me “never to pull that shit again.” I wasn’t sure what I had done, or why, but I nodded my head quietly.

Last call was shortly thereafter. I closed my tab, and then went outside to join my friends. We were all going to head down the street and continue the party at my parents’ house, but they were nowhere to be seen. I was less than a minute behind them, but they all had vanished. Just like magic. Poof - gone. I couldn’t help by feel like Kevin McAllister as I walked home all by myself. Left behind – forgotten – unloved and alone. My brother called me in a panic “Where the fuck are you?” he screamed. “We’re coming to get you!” But I just hung up on him. It was too late. The dye had been cast. The damage had been done. They had forgotten me. Sure, it had only taken me 4.5 minutes to walk home. But at the moment, it was about the principle. I walked in the door, and went straight to bed. I was going to punish them with sleep.

The party continued without me until God-only-knows-when. Our friends – too drunk to drive home – fell asleep across the floors of my parents living room and basement – never mind the fact that there were four empty bedrooms upstairs. Around 7AM, Chase, his mouth full of carpet, decided to get up off the floor and crawl into my bed. He woke me up as he settled himself atop the sheets, and I thought to myself “I wonder if he knows I’m not wearing any underwear.”

So over breakfast we all relived the previous evening’s shenanigans. We laughed until tears welled up in our eyes – embarrassed about what we had done – shocked at what we had forgotten. I definitely wasn’t the only one to make a giant ass of myself – but I’ll let my friends fill you in on their misadventures themselves. I’m still a firm believer that New Years is the worst holiday ever – but this one was a special exception. This New Years – despite everything listed above – was awesome.


*Their version of the story may differ slightly.