Beefcake Blonde
With my long work hours, I'm often home late, and something about a reheated turkey burger and soggy salad never sounds appealing. I want something hot and filling – and something with a little bit of fat to it.
The problem is, and I'm sure you all knew this already, is that I can't even boil water, let alone put together random ingredients to make something that would resemble a meal. I have tried, honestly I have, but there is something about me that just doesn't scream homemaker. Therefore, I usually settle for McDonald's, frozen burritos, or just a couple cans of pop and some gummy bears. Talk about organic. (Hey, maybe THAT'S how my pants got so tight?)
But let me explain what happens when I try my hand at a home-cooked meal. This story did not happen recently, but has grown into one of the all-time biggest blonde moments I've ever experienced… and it's a favorite story to tell at parties, especially when I act it out.
I was living with my boyfriend about two years ago and like the good girlfriend I am, wanted to make him dinner. I also wanted to make enough so he would have delicious leftovers for days. I settled on a classic favorite – shredded beef sandwiches.
I carefully purchased all of my ingredients – about four cans of shredded beef (yeah, first mistake was buying meat in a can), some gravy-like substance (and no, I can no longer remember exactly what it was) and about two packages of buns. Yeah, that seems like a lot of food for two people, but I'm a bad judge at amounts.
I had no recipe for my shredded beef and just added whatever until it turned out OK, never mind the grayish color or the pungent smell from the gravy. I was so proud of my culinary adventure that the moment my boyfriend walked in, I shoved a plate of sandwiches under his nose. Unfortunately, he didn't eat them.
So in our fridge sat three pounds of shredded beef.
And it sat. And sat. And sat.
After a few weeks, I knew the beef HAD to go. But it was moldy and smelled so bad, there was no way I was putting it in our trashcan. We had a garbage disposal and the beef was technically already shredded, so why not?
I turned on the water and began shoving the beef down the drain. After I had filled the drain, I turned on the disposal. I quickly learned this was NOT the way to dispose of shredded beef. As the water rose in the sink and turned a murky gray color, I knew we had problems. I turned off the disposal. Shoved some more. Turned it back on.
I heard splashing. I assumed I burst a pipe underneath the sink, so I shut off the disposal and opened the lower cabinet doors. No water. No leak. So what do you suppose I did next? I turned the disposal back on.
The splashing continued. I thought I heard where it was originating, so I left the disposal running and turned the corner to our mudroom. This is when I saw it. A geyser of dirty, beef water was exploding from the wall. Apparently, the pipe that ran from the sink somehow met up with a pipe from the drain in the washer. The pipe burst from the wall, but not before it filled the washer (which was full of already washed clothes that belonged to my boyfriend's roommate) with the putrid stench of a bad dinner.
I ran to the sink and turned the disposal off. At least the sink had emptied.
As I cleaned the meat from the walls, I attempted to rinse the rag in the kitchen sink. The water rose. The clog was still there! Well, at this point, I did what any girl who didn't want her boyfriend to be angry would do. I went to the store and picked up a couple bottles of drain cleaner. I was going to fix this myself!
Well the drain cleaner didn't drain either. It just sat in the half-full sink. I decided that maybe letting it soak would do the trick. So I picked up my purse and went shopping.
I came back a few hours later and could barely breathe; the ammonia smell was so strong. I put on a face mask, some rubber gloves and carefully used a large Cavs cup to remove the poisonous substance from the sink. I noticed the acidy substance had eaten away at the stainless steel, causing a permanent ring. Oops.
I called my boyfriend to explain what had happened, and after a stern talking-to, I called the plumber. After a good snaking, the clog was still somewhere deep within the bowels of the piping and we were advised to call the sewer company. Great. The clog was so bad, we had to fix the SEWER!
The sewer guy came to the house, crawled somewhere into the ground, and came back in a little while, explaining everything was fixed… and the bill was more than $200. I had no money since I went shopping earlier that day, so my boyfriend had to foot the bill. Double oops.
And this is where I opened by big, dumb blonde mouth and asked the sewer guy, "What was wrong?"
"Well… You had a big clog of beef in the drain. That's what was wrong."
I haven't cooked or cleaned since. And the guy I lived with - is no longer my boyfriend.