Friday, November 6, 1998
Consider nude housekeeping to feed gourmet food needs
COLUMN: Partying, beer, stingy parents call for use of drastic
fund-raisers
Usually, I make strange meals out of leftovers that have been
rotting in the fridge for days. Yesterday, it was potato salad,
with stale pumpernickel bread bits as a potato substitute; slimy
cucumber instead of crisp celery; and onions instead of hard-boiled
eggs. Mixed with stinky cheese, mustard and mayo, even a dish like
this can satiate the college digestive system. Add in a few
midnight margaritas with a tequila bloody mary nightcap, and it
suits me just fine.
But once the "ghetto Ralph’s" on Wilshire Boulevard converted
into a newly remodeled "Ralph’s Fresh Fare" a few days ago, my
appetite has taken a turn for the gourmet.
All of a sudden, I realize that I must create dishes such as
"honey poppy seed cornish game hens" with "andouille and cornbread
stuffing" before desserts such as "caramelized apple charlotte with
lemon creme anglaise."
Yes. I deserve class. Because, hey, I’m a classy girl, and
Ralph’s is a darn classy joint.
But high-brow cuisine does cost a pretty penny.
Ring, ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mom. How was Italy?"
"Fine, dear. I purchased this beautiful cobalt blue Viennese
crystal vase and … "
"Yeah, I got the photo you sent."
" … and the Sicilians were so sweet, talking with their hands
and eating! I just…"
"Oh, well, that’s sort of why I’m calling  look, could I
get some more dough this month?"
"What happened to the rest of the money we sent you?"
"Mo-om! I had to pay for our Halloween party and stuff!"
"Well, honey, how much does a keg split between two people
cost?"
"Ugh! We didn’t rent a keg! We bought a full bar of cocktails so
we could make monkey glands and devil’s tails and exorcists, and we
blew the rest on batwich ingredients and pumpkin patch birthday
cake … "
"Well, what about the rest of the money? You can’t have spent
all of it on party supplies."
"No, of course not. But, gees, cans of Old Milwaukee’s Best
don’t grow on trees, you know, and who do you think pays for the
Christmas tree lights and leopard print faux fur that decorates our
apartment? I mean, opium den decor doesn’t exactly come cheap!"
"Goodbye, honey, your brother’s on the other line. I have to
pick him up in a few minutes to go see ‘Miss Saigon’ in the city.
Ciao!"
Moms are so unfair. He gets free tickets for a $60 show while I
suffer with broken nails, ghetto swill and cracked tennis shoes. I
can’t even afford to buy clothes at the Goodwill.
This Bruin gig doesn’t pay jack and I’m broke. It’s time to
consult Cosmo.
"It says here people make, like, $85 an hour doing
house-cleaning in the buff!"
"Man, Jen, four hours worth of scrubbing stove tops and I’d have
more spending money than I get in a month!"
"I’m in if you are."
"I’m there! But what if we get a bunch of weird rapists renting
our talents out who only want to molest us as we vacuum their
cat-hair-strewn living room shag throw rugs?"
"Uh  let’s just rent our services out to friends. They
wouldn’t do anything that kinky."
"Well, maybe something close to it  but I’d trust
’em."
Ring, ring.
"Kirsten."
"What’s up, Vanessa?"
"How much would you pay me and Jen to clean your apartment
naked?"
"Well, I enjoy cleaning. I’d rather rent myself out than pay you
guys to do my chores."
"C’mon  if we really needed the money Â"
"OK, two bits."
"Two bits?"
"You know, ‘shave and a haircut, two bits?’"
"Cute. But we need hard bills here, babe. Who else is over at
your place?"
"Chad. I’ll put him on."
"Nude house cleaning?"
"That’s right, Chad. How much would you give Jen and me?"
"I couldn’t let you do that. I’m too much of a gentleman. That’s
objectifying women and … "
"OK, if you weren’t you, but some other guy  how much
would you pay?"
"If I weren’t me, I’d pay you in other ways. Like  I’d
cook you dinner for two weeks … "
"Ooh!"
"Or I’d give you free alcohol every time you came over for the
entire year."
"Chad, wow. I wish you were that other guy."
"Sorry  I’m just too in touch with feminist issues to even
allow you to enter my apartment as a sexual object … "
"Right, I gotta go."
Ring, ring.
"Hi, it’s me, Ruben."
"Hey, I was just about to call you."
"I just wanted to say hi because …"
"How much would you pay Jen and me to clean your apartment
naked?"
"What? I was just calling because … "
"Whatever. Well, if you had an apartment, how much would you pay
Jen and me to clean it naked?"
"$100."
"And how much would you spend to rent the apartment for one
night in order to facilitate the event?"
"$200."
"So, you’d be, like, paying $300 just to let us clean in the
nude?"
"Uh, sure, I guess. But I just wanted to see what you guys were
doing … "
"Oh  drinking jug wine and studying for midterms. The
usual. We’ll pass out soon after playing records and discussing how
men destroy our sense of emotional control."
"Yeah  I was gonna go to bed, too. Good night!"
"Hmm … it seems like this nude house-cleaning business might
not pan out too well, Jen. None of our friends have any money
anyway, and I’m too drunk to think rationally anymore."
"I’m tired and sick. I hate puking my guts out every time you
have to write a column for the sake of creative stimulation by way
of roommate osmosis."
"Go to bed. I’m gonna listen to my 50-cent Joan Baez double
album while writing bad poetry before passing out with our two
cats, feeling neglected, manless and pissed off in a wilted lily
sort of a way. Is that cool? Jen?"
"Zzzz … "
VanderZanden is a fourth-year English student and music editor
at The Bruin where she sometimes works naked.
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