Sunday, January 6, 2008

Sin of the week, 1/06/08

The violent annihilation of thousands of innocents was not especially difficult, even for a enlightened, centered, peaceful being such as myself. Hearing about the slaughter will likely be more difficult for you than the actual killing was for me. (I was singing a Sinead O'Connor song at the time).

Let me explain.

I had been having a lovely weekend. Friday night, I saw the precious Sri and the dearest Bibi. We talked about our trip to Africa and chattered about our El Capitan fantasies. Today, I have been reading blogs, listening to Tibetan prayer chants and scrubbing things. I have been feeling - all weekend long - pretty goddammed harmonized with the universe. I even got an email from Merry, who is now home from Australia, which means brunch after church. That event alone gets me all the way to eleven.* OM.

But let me get to the murders.

I have the great good fortune to be friends with more than woman from India. One of these lovelies, my darling Lola, taught me a whole about Indian cooking, and as a result, I have a formidable spice rack. It includes everything a proper South Indian girl might need to cook for her household. Bag of basmati, too. I can even make the naan.

Now, I have only been back from South Carolina for a short time, and since I got back, I have not cooked a thing. I have been living on vitamins, water, salad and a piece of fish here or there. It happens sometimes. (It should happen more often. I'd be a lot thinner if it did).

I am on my way to the murders. Please be patient.

So last night it seemed a good New Years, 2008 idea to clean out my refrigerator and my cabinets and give everything a good scrub. I decided I would start with the microwave. I reached for the door of the microwave and I had the oddest sensation, unlike I have ever had in my life.

The feeling was, well, one of suffocation, one of horror, astonishment, nausea and outrage. Because do you know what happened when I opened the door to the microwave?

Do you?

Times like this, I wish I were handier with a thesaurus. What happened is that the area between the sink and the cabinet tops, commonly refered to as my kitchen counter, was obscured from view by the most vicious, wiggling, (seven-legged giraffe of a) cyclone of fruit flies ever recorded in human history. (Tights optional).** I shrieked. I went weak in the knees. I think I cried a little bit. So that you understand, I made a picture for you.

Picture thousands of him flying in lazy formation over you kitchen counter. Adjacent to your spice rack. You'd cry, too.

So I crawled over to the computer and IMed Supajewie.*** Having deliberately infested her own house with dogs, cats, and a baby, Supa understood instantly my feelings of rage, heartbreak and scorn. She recommended bleach and boiling water.

I considered. Yes, I could boil water - that is I could if I could nudge enough of these creatures out of my way and grasp the a sauce pan handle without injuring any of them. I did not understand the bleach idea at all. What would turning them snowy white accomplish, other than making them harder to see? Then I realized: if I did pour water down the drain and the water was boiling, serious injury would be done to the swarm. And bleach, while excellent for washing sheets and towels, is harmful to living things.

I did not understand how I was going to take back my apartment by non-violent means.

Was there a way, I asked Supa, for me to pack them all a lunch and light their way to a nice sewage drain somewhere? Was it possible, in all humility, to usher them all into my backpack and set them free in Washington Square Park, so scavenge among the dope dealers and seagulls? Might I toss name tags around their necks, get to know them, and make peace?

Supa told me to get over myself. I didn't need to hear that. I was already beside myself.

Then the oddest, most unexpected thing happened. (Well, odd after the tornado of wiggling grape fuckers). I armed my cat with a paring knife, put on my coat, and left the building. I directed my steps down 2nd Ave and let the drizzle have its way with my hair. I let my socks get soggy. I walked down to the river, which, if you know anything about Dickens, is where desperate people always go when they are not sure whether to live or die. I looked into the rising and falling waves of the brackish East River and considered the great rhythm of the cosmos, the circle of life, the miracle of sentience. Then I considered - and resigned myself to kill.

I returned to apartment and reported to Supa that the time had come for me to go crazystyles on my flying friends. She approved, and I went to work. Before I opened the first can of whoop ass on my kitchen dwellers, I selected Mantra Mix Disc 1, you know, to take the sting out of it. (As if that were even possible).

A few puffs from the Raid dispenser, and the bodies began to rain down upon me like hail. It was absolutely disgusting. (A few of them simply melted into thin air. I saw this happen. I am not kidding).

After the last of them - or at any rate the last I can locate - died, I swabbed them up and took them trash out. I then set about bleaching the entire kitchen. Then I re-washed it all over again with hot water and a magic eraser, boiled a gallon of water an poured it down my sink drain.

Is it safe now? I don't know.

If I stop posting and a six winged fruit fly with a giraffe's head appears on my blog and starts talking about its feelings, I think you will all know what went down here.

Now I am off to church and brunch with Merry. When I return, I will commence freaking out over all the work I have to do to get ready for tomorrow (first day of classes at Sweet Little College).

* I love you if you know what it means to "go to eleven."

** If you are confused, you just scroll down and admire the giraffe. Everyone else had to do it.

*** For more information regarding this moniker click here.


Sandy said...

Ah.....~Shaking fist~ I see you've met my nemesis (nemesii?) FRUIT FLIES! They are a crafty bunch. Leading us to believe that it's bananas in the summertime but it is more than that. Much more.
Now that you've gotten rid of the swarm, I tell you my method to deal with non swarms. A dish of apple cider vinegar covered with a piece of saran wrap poked with holes. I know it sounds impossible. But the little buggers fly in there and get drunk/poisoned by the vinegar.
Good luck to you. I'm glad to know a mass murderer. I guess.

LAS said...

That's right about the vinegar - I was going to say that! But I've never heard about the saran wrap and holes. I was told to add some dish soap to the mix and that way they crawl in and then die. I've tried it, it works. Maybe you can catch any hiders that way. I like this sin of the week thing. Can I confess something? This is terrible - I did something really bad. I stole my neighbor's paper last weekend. But in my defense, he was on vacation and it had been laying on the floor in the hallway for 3 days. I know, it's terrible. He probably called to bitch out the paper delivery person or something. But if your paper lays in the hallway for 3 days while you are on vacation, I kind of think it's fair game. Okay, I won't do it again. It's just something I've wanted to do for a while, you know? This guy is frequently gone and the paper just lays there.

LizB said...

I have to say; if my fruit flies looked all adorable and cute like the one you drew up there, I couldn't kill them. I'm glad you chose to kill them instead of jumping in the river. Those little suckers are definitely nasty though, and we've had our share with all the fresh veggies we haul in from the garden.

Maggie said...

I just want you to know that your sin of the week has been offset by helping someone in need.

There is this younger man with whom I occasionally flirt. In fact, my friend who also happens to read tarots thinks he may be the future father of my children, but for now he's still a bit of a child himself. He is WAY into climbing; he's the one who introduced me, but he won't be my belay partner because he's already got one, and he doesn't have the patience to deal with a beginner (see "still a bit of a child").

Lately I've been well-behaved on the flirting front, because of the Boyfriend of Record. However, last Friday morning I had a dream about this young man, so when he surfaced on IM later in the day, I could not resist, I had to tell him about his nocturnal visit.

This led us down a path which might very well qualify for my own sin of the week....

As the conversation escalated, it fell to me to provide a location for the hypothetical events we were discussing. It is at this point, dear Nina, that readership of your blog helped me impress, nay, utterly floor this young man -- for I referenced your "Things I want to do" list to propose the Nose Route of El Capitan.

(Bonus points for suggesting El Capitan to the one we call The Captain.)

Facilitating my sinful behavior might not quite redeem your sin of the week. But I am grateful nonetheless.

Nina said...

Sandy, thanks for the tip. So far, only one has survived, and I am going to knit him a sweater and let him live.

LAS, don't feel TOO bad about that newspaper. The guy probably read the paper wherever he was anyway. Also, you were doing him a favor by taking it because it made him appear to be home, which prevents people from breaking in. So you did something good, really.

LizB, fruit flies also like vegetables? I apparently do not know much about household pests. They are apparently very common, too, which surprises me. I thought I had done something special to make them appear. Maybe I didn't.

Maggie, This is all very, very interesting. Is this young man's name "The Captain"? Did his interest in El Capitan bring you closer, do you think? I must hear more of this. Exactly how young is he? Does he know he is fated to father your babies yet?

Maggie said...

I refer to him as The Captain, The Cap'n, or Captain Underpants on my blog.

I call him this because the first time we flirted over IM, we discussed what kind of underpants we were each wearing.

He was impressed that I invoked El Capitan. But instead of discussing climbing routes, we went off on a riff about how "absinthe makes the heart grow fonder."

He is 26, and has no idea hat he will father my babies -- though he does know that I plan to procreate soon. And like me, he also has a significant other of record. So it's all theoretical, at least for now.

He's also planning on moving to Brooklyn soon, so maybe I should send him your way?!

Maggie said...

PS: If I do send him your way, then you can have two different kinds of El Capitan fantasies!
ba-dum bum!

P said...

There is so much to say about this excellent post, but the most important thing is this:

I like that we are both proper south Indian girls. I think that's why I was originally drawn to you and your blog. Can you send me your favorite recipe so I can learn how to cook and therefore attract a nice south Indian man?

Thank you.