Sunday, March 21, 2010

Spring Cleaning.

This weekend, though I hadn’t planned to. I did a bit of spring cleaning. (Much needed, since working full time, writing and querying leave little time for much else, including cleaning.) I spent Saturday moving my make-shift futon bed out of my room and moving in the CA King donated by my roommate since he doesn’t use it anymore.

This was a much harder task by myself, than I’d hoped for. (If you ever think you can move 2 beds by yourself. Don’t. Ask a friend, get some help. You’ll be glad you did.)

Sunday was spent washing the dogs, picking up and vacuuming the living room, moving another futon bed, cleaning out the fridge and going to the dump. Woo hoo, when I say it like that I really accomplished a lot today!

I’m sharing this because I thought you all might like to hear about my experience cleaning out the fridge. (Well, you probably don’t really but I’m going to tell you anyways!)

I almost never actually eat the left-overs that I put in the fridge. I know, terribly wasteful, but it’s who I am. Maybe it’s because I was raised in a house where there was no such thing as left-overs. If you wanted something you better eat it right then because it wasn’t going to be there when you came back an hour later. But that’s beside the point.

So, preparing for my trip to the dump, I began pulling out all the dishes with forgotten left-overs in them. I’m not sure how many of you have ever experiences this but it can be traumatic. The first one I opened wasn’t that bad. It was fairly new, so there were no pretty colors yet.

As I worked my way in, the colors and smells got to be a little overwhelming. It kind of worked like a boomerang. The beginning ones didn’t smell, the middle ones were nauseating, and toward the end the stuff had been in there long enough the smell had given up.

But it’s these final, odorless ones that prompted me to write this. Each one I grabbed I examined hoping to get an idea of what was inside before opening. Meat smells less and comes out with very little fuss, but potatoes or fruit put up a valiant fight.

As I examined each piece, I came across one that truly had me frightened. I couldn’t tell what it was and honestly was afraid that, should I open it, something truly frightening, having been brought to life and grown in the fridge was going to pop out and get me! Luckily it was only pasta and it went quietly into the trash bag.

It was a truly gross experience and I should learn my lesson. But I don’t and I won’t this time either. Honestly, it was kind of an adventure, like when I was a kid and I turned chopping wood into a game or cleaning my closet into a hunt for the elusive shadow monster that taunted me at night. And when I was finished I was able to take it all to the dump and dispose of it like the hailing conqueror that I am!

And that’s my story.


  1. Oh God, you just reminded me of the fact we have to do the same thing here. Our worse place is a little 'barn' out back. We've put all the broken crap from the last six years there, including two stoves, a pile of drywall (from livingroom renovations) and two couches that cat's pee'd on.

    Husband wants to clean it out and store wood in there. I'm sure a colony of something has set up house.

  2. That almost sounds worse than my weekend. Yikes. Take some garlic and a few stakes, and maybe some gloves and bleach. Just in case! :P



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