Holy shizz. So remember a couple years ago when it became legally mandatory to post all of the sex offenders in a national sex offender registry? And it was like all the rage after an evening of watching How to Catch a Predator, to sit down with your loved ones and look up all of the sex offenders in your town, and to your horror, you'd find your mailman of 23 years, Gil, or Aunt Millie's wrinkled mug staring you in the face? You'd keep your fingers crossed hoping that it was only for taking a freak-a-leak behind the shed after three too many beers at the annual Labor Day picnic, but inside you were never quite sure? You were left wondering what your neighbors were doing in their spare time? Yeah, those were the good ole days...
Well I had the pleasure of reliving this great period in American history, just the other night, when I found myself asking "Do we ever really know our neighbors?" The answer to this, my friend, is not blowing in the wind. The answer, my friend, is NO. And so it begins...
Last week, my brother bought a treadmill off of Craigslist. This should have been my first clue that the night was going to be interesting. The word "Craigslist" alone is synonymous with weird. Like weird weird. Like the weird you only find in college dorm rooms. Like Bubble Boy weird. Anyway, you get the picture. Craigslist lived up to its reputation.
We drove up to the seller's house, (a frighteningly short drive), and Mr. Craig was waiting for us... Outside...
Before we even get to introductions,I can tell this guy is going to be awesome. Clad in a casual pair of distressed jeans, a screen printed t-shirt that said "affliction," this guy was nothing short of Leawood's John Gosselin. His outfit, coupled with his balding dome, had me feeling mortified for his children, and I sure as hell hope this doucher hasn't fathered eight of them.
He introduces himself as"Mike," which is also my brother's name and although I didn't know it then, served as the first of many comparisons he would make between the two of them.
We go downstairs to find the treadmill and my brother, Michael, attempts to make small talk. He is brilliant with small talk, a genetic gift he has inherited from my mother. However, I would not really call what unfolded before our eyes "small."In fact, Michael and I discovered some rather big issues about this man.
Michael: "This looks like a really nice treadmill."
Mike: "Yeah, that's not the only nice thing I'm getting rid of. I have got multiple huge flat screen t.v.'s, this massive house, and a portable,indoor sauna."
SMALL TALK TRANSLATION: I am a big loser. Let me attempt to impress you with these material goods, I have collected over the years.
Michael: "Oh cool. Well should we start to move this thing up the stairs?"
SMALL TALK TRANSLATION: Oh wow, this could be a long evening. Best to start it and get it over with.
Mike:"Yeah,yeah. You should move down to the light end and I will get the front."
SMALL TALK TRANSLATION: I feel threatened by your youth, and want to prove to you that I can still do things.
Michael: "Are you sure? I don't mind..."
STT: Please do not sue me when you herniate some discs mid-heart attack as you try to hold this thing
Mike: "No, no. I still got it. I look pretty good for my age, don't you think?"
STT: VALIDATION. NOW.
So they start to move this gigantic awkwardly shaped excuse for a good idea down the hallway and up the stairs when things start to get tense.My brother Michael is at the bottom of the stairs holding the majority of the weight while Mike is struggling mid staircase. Mike's face is getting very red. Mike's veins are starting to pulse. I am starting to have visions of this massive thing slip from Mike's grip, joy ride its way down the stairs, just shortly before crushing every bone in my eldest brother's body, having met his demise in his twenties on the carpet of this randomaniac's home. NOT GOOD.
Michael: "Is everything okay? Do you want to take a break?"
Mike: "No man, I got it. I'm just going to tie one end of this rope I found around the treadmill and the other around my neck..."
WHAT???!?!!!!??
So he is going to strangle himself before killing my brother? AWESOME.
So Mike, now wearing a leash, insists that he is okay and continues this Everest-esque trip up the stairs.
Then the thing gets stuck in the door frame. (A problem my brother brought up an hour earlier, which Mike brushed off...)
This is when things get interesting. Mike, who has taken to calling me "Les," now insists that I maneuver my way up the stairs, between them and the treadmill and start to unscrew the whole damn thing. I begrudgingly obey, we get the thing through the door and we are that much closer to having survived one of the scarier nights of our lives. Or so I thought. After we have the whole machine loaded into my brother's car- which nearly broke during the process, Michael is called back into Mike's house to look at pictures of his Russian girlfriend that Mike has printed off from the internet.
Mike: "Look at her! She is just average over there! Average!"
Michael: "Uh huh...wow..."
STT: maybe the less I say the faster I will be out of here?
Anyway, to make a long story somewhat shorter, I will just say we made it out alive, having learned quite a bit and grown as individuals. Incredible experience to say the least.
After returning to Michael's house I made a delicous creamy tomato and gorgonzola soup. The foodie connection to this whole story is that if you decide to make this soup, in all of its fiery red glory, just know that its color was the same as old man Mike's face when trudging up the stairs.
Ingredients:
Tomato juice
1 can tomatoes-any way you like
1 red pepper
1 onion
some garlic
gorgonzola cheese
some cream cheese
some heavy cream or milk
Saute garlic, onion and red pepper until onion is translucent. Pour in tomatoes and juice and bring to a simmer. Slowly add cheeses and stir to blend. When soup looks nice and blended add the milk. Serve with a grilled cheese or some crusty bread and indulge.
