Aprons Are for Nancy-boys

So I’ve had a little bit of free time lately, and I decided to use it to do something productive. Yesterday was clean up day. I figured, after about three months, it was finally time to clear out the mountain of Wendy’s and Hardee’s take out bags that were piled up on top of my trash can. No seriously, the pile was almost as tall as I was. It was getting to be a chess match between me and the fragile prehistoric mound-like edifice I had built. Will one more bag fit on top without everything toppling over? Can I go one more day without having to take out the garbage? These are the questions that plague my mind daily.

So I loaded everything up into four separate trash bags and took everything out. Yes, four trash bags for a one bedroom apartment. I’m not a dirty man, I’m just lazy. Hey, I take my trash out once every three months, that means I’m being clean enough, right? You know what, do me a favor and don’t answer that.

But yesterday was about oh-so much more than taking out the trash. In fact, my dirty clothes had been building a mound society of their very own. Normally I have to pull the hammer out of my tool box so I can use the claw side of it to rip apart the garments that have become cemented together in my laundry basket. I’m actually surprised that the amount of time and pressure exerted upon my dirty clothes in the laundry basket doesn’t fuse two articles together to form some sort of mutated freak of apparel. Luckily that hasn’t happened. Nor did I have to resort to using tools to separate my clothes. For some strange reason, the laundry basket has remained next to my washing machine since the last time I did clothes instead of returning to my closet where it belongs. Hey, I’m lazy, remember.

So instead, I found a large mound of dirty clothes lying on the floor of my closet blocking me from access to my dresser and whatever else I might need. Normally that would be a bad thing, but it’s been at least six months since I folded and clothes and put them away. I have developed a perfectly intellectual system for my clothing cycles. The smelly wrinkled clothes on the floor are dirty. The wrinkled clothes laying on the futon are clean. And of course, if it’s on the floor and it doesn’t smell, it gets relegated to that grey area where it’s ok to wear as long as I’m not going on a date. Well, it’s probably ok to wear on a date as long as I’m not trying to impress the girl.

So after starting a load of laundry, taking out the trash, and cleaning a few dishes (the nice thing about fast food is that you don’t have too many dishes to worry about) I decided to bake a batch of cookies. See, there’s this recipe for double chocolate cookies that I’ve been meaning to try since I’ve never actually done a pure chocolate cookie recipe before. Hey, I enjoy baking. Now I know what you’re thinking, but this does not make me a woman. Guys can be domestic too you know. So before you start making fun of me, let me just remind you that I’m 6’2”, 190lbs, an avid hockey player, and I could totally beat the crap out of your boyfriend.

I think my forays into the mystic realm of bakeries is well documented. So suffice it to say, I pretty much know what I’m doing. And as luck would have it the cookies turned out rather well. I’m enjoying them at least. It was a pretty small batch I made up so I most likely will not be sending any out to friends, which is a break from my normal routine. I believe in sharing, I’m nice like that. Just like when a friend of mine is dating a girl who has a physically attractive sister/roommate/friend on the rebound, I expect them to share. Like I said, it’s the polite thing to do.

I look back now and I see a much cleaner apartment and I feel an odd sense of accomplishment. Granted, it’s not exactly what most of you would normally call “neat” or “clean.” There’s still junk lying out over the coffee table and who knows what sitting on top of the kitchenette bar (seriously, I’m too afraid to find out). Hey, a there’s only so much domestication a guy can do before the NHL All-Star Skills Competition comes on. And yes, I’m that big of a hockey freak that I watch the skills competition every year. What can I say, I love hockey.

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to watch the All-Star game tonight. It comes on at 8pm Eastern Time and I have my own hockey game to play at 9pm. This game is important too since we have a chance at winning that would put us at 2-2 for the season. That would be huge when you bear in mind that we only had two wins all last season combined. I’m not afraid to admit that we suck. And you know what? I’m ok with that. We’re getting better, and with some luck we could finish this season at .500 or better. That’s the goal at least.

In the meantime I should probably finish what I started yesterday. My apartment still hasn’t been totally cleaned up, but you know what, screw it. I’m too lazy. Besides, what did you expect? If you want to see clean and tidy go call up Martha Stewart. If you want to see an apartment that revolves around pizza, beer, and video games then you’ve come to the right place. Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I need to go grab another beer…

As a final note I wanted to give some kudos to ESPN commentator Mike Ditka for being the only person on ESPN (both on TV and on ESPN.com) to pick the Bears (DAA Bears!) to win the NFC Championship game over the New Orleans Saints. I’m sure he had personal reasons for picking the Bears to win, but nevertheless, he was the only one who got it right. The rest of you football journalists should pay attention. Mike Ditka is smarter than you. Oh, and Rex Grossman is still my hero. Laugh at me all you want, but he’s in the Super Bowl and you’re not.