Thursday, November 12, 2009

You Have the Power to End This!

I have a new enemy.

Like all good archenemies, it had been my friend before we became enemies. But now – O, Time! O, History! O, Muse (Greek goddess, not awesome rock band)! Let my fingers feel the curve of this Cinderella pearl, let my voice tell the story, lest my blogosphere-friends be equally swayed by the Evil Wiles of dread Pickle Jar of DOOM™.

Yes – I bought this jar of pickles at the corner market by the ‘tro on my way home. I should have realized that there was a reason it was cheaper than the other jars. Should have.

Instead, I congratulated on myself on the astoundingly Russian dinner I was planning of pickles, instacoffee, and some kolbasa [sausage – note how close it is to the Polish word, “kielbasa”] I had cooked over at American Embassy 2.0 yesterday. (A note – my “fridge” [the space between the two panes of window glass] is indeed at a cold enough temperature that meat does not spoil! Hurray!)

Kolbasa and pickles – a lovely dinner for a Russian single man. Truly, I play the part too well...but I like garnering the sympathy of the women who cook for me when I go over to their house, and I have to describe what I usually eat, and I don’t even have to lie…

I walked through the night, humming “I think I’m turning Japanese” under my breath. I wondered how I might make “Russian” fit into the same rhythm. I think the answer is “I think I’m turning the Russian,” which would fit well with stereotypical accents and everything.

Got home. Pulled the sausage from the refrigerator. Took the jar of pickles to ope—to ope—what, are my hands greasy? Wipe them off –to open it—gah! What’s wrong with this thing? To open—nope. Maybe with my tie…still too slippery – whack it? Nope. To open – nope. Other folk remedies…turn it the opposite direction first? Nope…

NOT to open the jar of pickles, my enemy most foul.

My arch nemesis stands opposite me on my work table. I don’t know why I call it work table – I only have one table, and it’s also my “piles of notes” and “dinner” table. Oh well. That’s where the jar stands.

I glare at it from time to time. It sticks its tongue out at me.

I threaten it with a drop from my five-story window. It tempts me with its marinated goodness.



Monica said...

I'm sorry to hear of your weakness..haha!! You should have added some sauted onions and peppers, and even some melted cheese to your sausage and you could have dropped your pickles from your 5 story window. Just a thought. Maybe next time. Now I'm hungry!

Andrew said...

You've made ME hungry, describing that. I am only limited in the dorm because there is a very minimal and communal kitchen down the I try to limit the cooking that I do at home. I had cooked up the sausage at American Embassy 2.0 before I brought it home and threw it in the "fridge"...