The Devil Never Sleeps

O-kay! Who’s excited to hear both the grossest thing in the world AND the most delicious discovery I’ve made since the now-maligned Salad Ballroom?

While preparing the garbage for ah, garbage night (what else?), I noticed that not only was it stinkier than usual, but it … well, how do I put this? Something WHITE fell from the lid when I lifted it and when I looked down, I was greeted with the worst of all outcomes: TEEMS OF MAGGOTS. And I’m sorry, I can’t get it out of my head. It was … it was EPIC in its TEEMING TEEMINESS. They moved! They wriggled! THEY WERE EVERYWHERE. They … wait a second, why is Fairuza Balk hovering over me screaming about Manon? THIS IS NOT A GIFT FROM MANON.

The culprit was a chicken carcass that escaped from its plastic bag that I’d put it in for this express purpose — maggot AVOIDANCE, that is. I … I’m sorry for telling you about this, it’s just that apparently I can’t stop. I think I’m hoping that the more I talk about it, the more the memory will fade. I’m sharing with you, you see. SHARING.

This is also a PSA to let you know that Googling is not only bad when you have a medical condition (Did you know a headache can be a sign of an aortic aneurysm?), but Googling “Maggots in trash” will result in the kind of horror stories that will have you bleaching your entire house from top to bottom, then promptly dipping your body into a vat of some kind of GERM-KILLING ACID, because duuuude, there were endless stories of people … people who had MAGGOTS IN THEIR STOVES. IN THEIR STOVES. AND THEY COULDN’T GET THEM OUT.

(Guess who took apart her entire stove at midnight? Three guesses! )

(Also, I think that maggots in your stove maybe implies a low level of cleanliness that mercifully, I have not sunk to. I mean, right? Tell me I won’t be infested! TELL ME!)

Now who’s ready to talk about ice cream? Who? YUMMY, right? Well, if you can bear to read these two things separately, I’ll tell you that there are few things I find more mystifying than a person who doesn’t like ice cream. I married one of those people, and it remains a constant point of contention (“Let’s go out for ice cream!” “Nah, I don’t feel like it.”) The only thing I like more than ice cream is cake, and I can’t even talk about cake and ice cream TOGETHER.

Which brings me to … Ben & Jerry’s Cake Batter ice cream. Have you had it? Have you DIED? Because I did and I died. Yes. It’s yellow cake batter flavored ice cream that actually TASTES like cake batter and (oh I can barely type this without salivating) it has a CHOCOLATE FROSTING SWIRL. And it is actually frosting, not chocolate ice cream. It’s FROSTING. SWIRLED IN CAKE BATTER.

And finally, we’ve been eating out this week, because GOOD GODDAMN, it’s too hot to cook (someday remind me to tell you about the Night of the Chicken in the Blazing Heat), and Adam was forced to order something off the menu called the “Hot Gobbler”. It’s vaguely dirty is it not? And do you think they KNOW? Further, why are restaurants so determined to embarrass their guests when they order dinner?

Happy weekend!

*Iron & Wine.

46 comments July 10th, 2008