Baking soda bonanza

Friends, I am a fiend for cleaning things so long as they're in the public view. I do not keep my bedroom tidy. It looks like the bedroom of a six-year-old boy with a mild case of ADHD. But my kitchen, living room, and dining room I like to keep clean in case the president comes over. (It could happen, you don't know it won't.)

Recently I moved into the most adorable little apartment. It has hardwood floors. It has the most adorable little built-ins where we store our alcohol like classy, employed folk. It has a fireplace. It has a pantry with a hook in it from which you are meant to hang an apron. I died the first time I saw it. And now that I am dead, it is my heaven.

However, since I'm renting, there are a few things wrong because people don't feel the need to invest in maintenance while they live there. Tragically, this comes at the cost of the adorable bronze cabinet pulls in the kitchen. So I resolved to clean them.

The answer isn't 409 (85% of problems are solvable with 409) or Windex (my other standard cleaner). The answer is baking soda, salt, water, and scrubbing. Just look at this:

I feel like a serious blogger right now, recommending a home remedy like this, but look at the difference. Look at it. It's insanity. The one on the right is sticky and blackened by years of disregard, and the one on the left is clean. It's even a little shiny.

Here's how I did it: I dumped a bunch of baking soda into a bowl and stirred in some larger salt to help as an abrasive. Then I added just enough water to make a paste, et voila: homemade cleaner.

The brown/black stuff is what came off the pulls. Ewwwwwwww.

I unscrewed the cabinet pulls from the doors and scrubbed away, just covering them in the paste and the rubbing with my fingers, rinsing when I was done. I probably took about 5 minutes per pull, and I wasn't even scrubbing that hard.

So there you go, ladies and gentlemen. I've been converted to the cult of baking soda. You may consider this my first proselytization.

And she was very, very happy

This past weekend I got to go to a wedding with my boyfriend. This sounds pretty usual for someone in their 20s, but (because I overthink things), I see a little more in it.

Boyfriend and I have had a hellish summer. He had surgery early in the summer and I cared for him while commuting to work in another city. He managed to land a job and we managed to find a place to live. His recovery is turning out to be miserably long, and the doctor's orders to do nothing until he healed was driving us both a little nutty. We both needed a vacation.

We were invited to the wedding by the bride and groom (duh...), but the bride is my coworker. We were invited not out of obligation, but because in our company, we're all good friends.

I'm all too aware of how rare it is for a freshly-minted college grad to have a job, and so I thank my lucky stars every day that I have a job that not only pays me, but pays me to work with people I care for and actually like to hang out with. (Company picnics are no awkward affairs, but rather crazy fun bonding times).

This wedding, where I got to relax on the beach and kick back with my friends and boyfriend, really brought home how lucky I am. So thanks, coworker, for getting married. I know you said you were the happier girl in the world that day, but I know I was pretty darn happy too.

Also, my toenails were orange :)

Tourist trap

Yesterday I went out to Pier 39 with Boyfriend, his mother, grandmother, and the Blonde Bookworm. Yes, we trooped out to that wonderful, chilly, gaudy tourist trap and enjoyed some rare and gorgeous San Francisco sunshine.

What's great about the tourist trap is the ridiculous kitsch they sell. I will never tire of the glitter pink flasks with San Francisco emblazoned on the front, the shirts that copy the latest fashion (right now it's Run DMC), and endless shot glasses and spoons and keychains that are sold everywhere.

Here, for example, is Boyfriend wearing a large floppy hat:

I had to follow through on my threat to Instagram the image.

More importantly, I got Captain America socks.

Yeah I did.

I have to admit: I'm a bit conflicted about these. They're awesome and I adore them... but I am absolutely a bandwagon fan. I never read the comic books, and never got involved in the story of the Cap until the most recent movies. And while Boyfriend couldn't be happier that I'm excited about Captain America, I still haven't read the comic books.

So, my limited audience, I ask you: Can I wear these socks without being an Idiot Nerd Girl? Where is the line between enjoying a popular cultural icon and calling yourself a fan? If someone says I'm not a "true" Cap fan because I haven't loved him long enough, are they a Cap Hipster? THESE ARE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS.

Unexpected long post is unexpected. Food coming soon!

New inspiration

My dear readers, I have abandoned you. I apologize. I have had the craziest summer of my life between graduation, starting work full time, caring for Boyfriend as he recovered from surgery, and moving to another city.

But these are mere excuses.

I'm an avid Slate reader, and yesterday the writer Tracie McMillan offered a wonderful article on why we should all cook dinner always. Yes, it has to do with money, but more importantly, it has to do with responsibility:

"Just because [cooking] is a drag doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it—we do things every day that are a drag. We take out the trash, we make our beds, we run the vacuum, we pay the bills. These are not lofty cultural explorations, but they are necessary, and so we do them anyway."

Part of the problem with blogging -- or even just reading foodie blogs or browsing Pinterest -- is that we feel pressure to create some new masterpiece that we can post on Instagram and impress our friends. I think we all need to make a better effort to nourish ourselves, rather than push ourselves to be more Martha than Ms. Stewart herself.

I will return soon. I'm moving to a new apartment with a better commute, and I'll have more time to bake and craft and blog. In the meantime, chew on this.