Updated

[Breakfast: a handful of red grapes and a soy green tea latte]

Don’t hate me for making a recipe from The South Beach Diet book. I’m not a recipe snob, and DK thought it was one of the tastiest meals I’d ever made him. It had two of DK’s favorite foods, avocados and pistachios. The pistachios managed to cause drama. Unfortunately there weren’t any shelled pistachios left at Trader Joe’s, so I got a bag of regular ones. How hard could it be to shell 1/2 cup of pistachios? (Rachael is laughing right now) It turned out to be very difficult, and I broke a nail and made a mess out of my hands. Luckily, DK offered his hammering skills to crush the nuts. I marveled at his deftness as he wrapped some tin foil around the hammer and chopped the pistachios through a paper towel. It took ten minutes, and they came out perfectly. I thought he was doing it the hard way, but I was so burnt out from my shelling fiasco that I couldn’t figure out how to crush them in a timelier manner.

The meal was a smashing success. DK and I were happily eating and were just getting into "How Do I Look?" one of our favorite shows on the Style channel, when we heard a knock at the door. We were both half-dressed and had just screamed out "How Do I Look? Fucking Disgusting!!!" (On the show, the person getting the makeover always asks How Do I Look? a minimum of 50 times.) We looked at each other and didn’t answer the door.

After a half an hour the phone rang. Fuck me! We were at the point in the show where the show’s host was going through all of the fashion collections. It was my favorite part. I’d never seen a makeover person choose the collection that the professional stylist picked out and was always waiting for it to happen. They usually picked the hideous clothes that a relative had picked.

I looked at the Caller ID. It was the building’s apartment manager who was at least 90. Maybe there was a crazy person on the loose. I picked up the phone on the 5th ring.

"Your downstairs neighbors said there was a banging noise coming from your apartment," she said.

"We were chopping some nuts for ten minutes," I said, trying not to raise my voice too much.

The stupid fucking downstairs neighbors were complaining about ten minutes of noise at 8:00 PM. I felt like running around the apartment banging pots and pans for a half-hour while playing a horror film at top volume. Then they’d have something to complain about. I’ve lived in a lot of apartments and have never had a tenant complain to the manager….pussies.

"Oh, well. Have a good night."

"You too,’" I said.

I got back just in time to save my lunch for the next day. DK was finished having seconds and was eyeing the rest of the chicken. We drank more of the twentysomething pinot grigio that the clerk had charged me for less than five bucks. I contemplated taking up jumping rope in my apartment. Yeah, I was still a bit miffed. Then a miracle happened…the fashion don’t on "How Do I Look?" picked the stylist’s fashion collection! DK and I looked at each other in amazement. Forgetting about the downstairs neighbors, I got up and jumped up and down.

"It’s…a…miracle…it’s a miracle," I sang. DK got up and danced with me. Life was good.

At midnight the phone rang. WTF?

"Hello?" I said.

"Sorry to call so late. Have you been taking a shower?" asked the apartment manager.

"No," I said.

"The downstairs apartment is flooded so don’t use any water."

"OK, bye," I said and turned the phone off.

I explained the situation to DK.

"You do realize that means that all the pistachios and food in the garbage disposal is in their apartment now," DK said.

"That’s instant karma, baby!"

DK and I laughed our heads off for at least 15 minutes.