Next Up, the Accidental Alcoholic

My broccoli is mangy. Or musty. Or whatever that exact word is that means it has little yellow spots on it and smells vaguely like a damp sneaker. Goes well with the leftover birthday champagne and frozen Szechuan vegetable dinner that represent the last of the edibles in the kitchen. Unless you count Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch (there’s no milk) and SupRGain protein bars (eighty-thousand calories each).

I don’t normally punish myself like this, but I returned from my two weeks’ vacation to find my roommate on his way out and the refrigerator empty, the sink full and my car still not running. I cannot believe I am stranded this four day weekend with no groceries and no car. By Monday night I’ll be picking over the carpet for stray popcorn kernels and licking condensation off the window panes.

Sure, there’s food (and I use that term loosely) in the fridge but A) it stinks like whatever garlicky thing he spilled in there and didn’t clean up, B) it’s suspiciously gray looking, and C) it’s loaded with fat, calories and probably red meat.

My roommate and I have very different food kept in very different places in the kitchen because we have very, very different diets. I generally eat fresh, organic fruits and vegetables, weird pastas, and lots of fish, in addition to dairy and meat substitutes only Tibetan monks and people from California have ever heard of. He eats….well, pretty much everything else. He is a human receptacle for trans fats, saturated fats, additives, preservatives, refined sugar, processed cheese product, WonderBread® and anything made of meat, especially cow. Rarely do our culinary paths cross, and when they do, it’s usually because he’s eaten (defiled!) my entire four-dollar bag of organic blue corn chips with a big-ass bowl of Hot Mama’s Salsa-N-Cheez dip.

Our grocery arrangement usually works pretty well. I have one side of the fridge/freezer and he has the other (sometimes when I’m putting my groceries away, I imagine the hummus and veggies and almond milk on my side sticking their organic tongues out and taunting the chunks of meat, jars of jelly, and god-only-knows-what-else on his, then they get into a big rumble and…never mind. I do let my imagination get away sometimes). I also have custody of a small cupboard while he claims the top of the fridge. We share one small cabinet for cereal and pasta and not much else.

Thing is, he can’t seem to understand that his incredibly offensive lack of kitchen hygiene affects more than just him. He threw a big loaf of nasty preservative-loaded bread into my cupboard, knocking open a bag of multi-grain English muffins that subsequently went stale. He ate all the lettuce and the good salad dressing, and did I mention the stench in the fridge that has seeped into every container not vacuum sealed and packed in stainless steel?

When I got home Thursday, I found one ice-cream cone, three frozen fruit juice bars, two cups of yogurt and a slosh of almond milk at the bottom of the last carton. That’s all gone, in addition to two bags of popcorn, half a sleeve of saltines and a pack of gum I found in my purse. So now I’m down to a frozen dinner garnished with mangy broccoli and old champagne.

Which is, I guess, a long shot better than no champagne at all.

Cheers!