Dear Mr. Leonard Nimoy: While I adored 'In Search Of', you screwed me. The Kitchen Cabinet of Death. We all have one. I swear, it conspires against me. I know it does. I try to get lids and containers to match, but it's like Homer's fukking Odyssey. Trials and tribulations, so you plead with the Gods of Plastic, why, what have I done? Go ahead, dump it all over the floor, you just go ahead, it doesn't matter. It's like trying to solve the mystery of life and cure cancer at the same time. You fool yourself into thinking that all those hours you spent "re-arranging it" - for years and years and YEARS - will make a difference. Is this Sartre's 'No Exit'? Kinda. All the wrong crap reproduces exponentially. Chinese take-out covers with no mate, there must be a word in Mandarin for this. Watching endless infomercials about containers and lids to simplify your life because maybe there's an answer. I prefer glass, but an Anchor Hocking cover walked off into the into the night years ago, probably murdered by some unnamed assassin. This is the basis of 'The Castle'. We can get into junk drawers when you're ready.
As I read this, I kept picturing my wife's thrice weekly rants about not being able to find a matching lid. It's gotten to the point where I have to make sure to get up from the table first to put away the leftovers before she attempts a foray into the ever growing bin full of tupperware. We now have enough tupperware to fill up a Chuck E Cheese plastic ball pit since she seems to think if she keeps getting more she will find a lid easier.
The irony of Tupperwear, it'll outlast us all, the only thing left in millions of years will be tupperwear lids, yet two weeks after you buy it the lid slips behind the back of the kitchen drawer and your purchase is completely useless, until one day you need to mix some paint or give water to a stray dog.
Tip for you fellas out there. When the wife is out, you can surreptitiously throw things away and she'll never notice. You're welcome.
OK, it gets better. My shop vac that I use in my Studio disappeared. Me to the old man: "Did you lend my shop vac to anyone? Trying to do a clean up, it's not here, what the hell." Him: "No. Look in the shed." Me: "I never put it in it the shed, but maybe you used it for something and forgot to put it back from God knows where." Him: "I didn't lend it to anyone." Me: "So I guess someone stole it when my Studio door is locked? Not buying another one as of yet, but this is crap. I know you lent it to someone. A big, fat, fire-engine red shop vac just got taken up into the sky, and no-one noticed. WHERE IS IT?" Three months later, Him: "I got a call from Gary that I still have your wife's shop vac, when do you wanna pick it up?" Me: "GODDAMN IT!" Well, at least that's one mystery that was solved in this matchbox that somehow communes with a black hole. EDIT & P.S.: The old man is notorious for filching my tools, especially needle nose pliers. Then they join the death march of missing lids. I even hide my hammer and nail sinker because you just never know when they're gonna scoot away, never to be seen again.
Here's another good one. I was cleaning out the old man's car two weeks ago and found a big Pyrex bowl without a lid. "Whose is this?" "I didn't even know that was there." Typical. Called both of my local sis-in-law is it yours, is it yours.. No, not mine, no, not mine. It's mine now, and nice addition to my repertoire, because it doesn't have a lid!
She'll notice the missing lids! As a woman who isn't a clothes horse and couldn't give two craps about shoes, shopping, wears a dress maybe once a year (my batting average is terrible, and it's usually because of something hideously annoying - as in a wedding), never wears make up, has never had a manicure (much less a pedicure in my entire life), and has never done anything remotely girly, don't fukk with my lids. I keep a pristine clean ship, but I love dirt (artist). Still tough to make myself do my most hated chore ever, though: bathe. My hands are gnarled, arthritic because of occupational hazards, and I don't much care. No, I'm not a bull dyke. I just don't give a shit. A born and forever tomboy. Please send all of my missing lids to: NEW YORK JETS Atlantic Health Jets Training Center One Jets Drive Florham Park, NJ 07932 Just a word of advice to anyone who has daughters. Your femininity comes from the inside out, not from the outside in. I love and miss my Daddy terribly. Everything I am in terms of being a woman, I learned from him. "Don't ever bat your eyelashes or shake your can to get something you want. You'll disappoint me, Daughter." It stuck with me my entire life.
Listen to me, and listen to me good. You're gonna find a lid in there, but no container that matches. You'll ditch the lid and then find a container three days later that matched, but you'll NEVER KNOW FOR SURE. The disgruntled recycle sanitation shitheads that hate their jobs will laugh in your face as well as behind your back. Believe it.
I did find 4 of the ancient tupperware cups in a cabinet today, we have them in the pile to go to Salvation Army but will most likely be turned away as we could not find the lids. She also gave me a handful of master lock keys and told me the locks were in the garage.
Yes, it was. Big age gap because I was adopted, but he was the only person in the world who truly understood me and never tried to change me. It was a very tough loss for me when he died. My Mom, in general, haha, we were always somehow in league against her. Not that I didn't love her just as much, we just never bonded in quite the same way. I've written so many short stories and vignettes about my Daddy, I've lost count. He could fall asleep on top of a picket fence during a thunderstorm. He also snored like Snuffy Smith. Going full snore mode during a funeral for a close family member is just a starter course. "And may the presence of Christ keep him and bless him . . . " SNORE!!! It echoed EVERYWHERE - for roughly 30 seconds. The snore couldn't be ignored. Yeah, the final part, at the end of the Eulogy, when the priest throws Holy Water and waves around incense and shit. My Mom was mortified. Haha, again, only a starter course. My Daddy and I cracked up in private during the inconsolata. My Mom didn't talk to us for three days. One of the countless times that she didn't talk to us for three days. If you find any additional matching lids, please send them to: St. Kevin's Cathedral Flushing Queens, NY
There is no lid for this jar. Try to invent something to seal the impossible. Swim up a waterfall. Try. Just don't try to lid the tornado.
My neighbor across the street, my dog and her dog are glued together at the hip. I watch her dog in a pinch, my dog gets to run like a maniac with her dog in her fenced in yard. She's from the Bx, old school; and if I do her even a simple favor, she gives me food, usually plantanos maduros (yum!). I give her fresh bread that I bake in return. It all works out. I don't think there's a kinder or more feel-good gesture than gifting people homemade food, no matter how humble. Yesterday, she handed me a few plantains in a huge container that were just the right ripeness with a super simple recipe to roast them in the skin (came out EXCELLENT, btw, so easy!). Anyway, no lid, plantains covered with plastic wrap. "What happened to the lid?" "¡Dios mío! ¡Ya no aguanto más!" In other words, the lid got murdered by a drug cartel.
Do you think there is maybe a single building in Area 51 that has nothing but tupperware lids? Every now and then when an alien beams someone up for an anal probe they inadvertently get a lid also and they just drop it off at the storage building?
