Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Total First World Problem, But Still...

Holy fucking Christ, ya'll. My refrigerator STINKS.

It smells like dirty boy Brad Pitt crawled in there but died and his mane kept growing 'cause that's what hair does when you die and it ended up sort of creeping around the fridge when the light was off and it discovered a whole, raw chicken (which happened to have a raging yeast infection) and held it close to his rotting face as he smeared it with horseradish and moldy pineapples and they all had a latex orgy and then exploded. And then the fridge was unplugged for 3 years and left to moulder in the hot, desert sun.

That's what it stinks like in there right now.

This all started about a week ago when I noticed that ripe smell that you normally associate with, "Get your lazy ass off the PS3 and take out the motherfucking garbage already!", but when the garbage was removed, the smell not only grew legs.

After an inspection of the interior workings of the garbage can, I was able to determine that it was not, in fact, the source of the stench (which was augmenting at an alarmingly fast rate, I might add), and I moved my search to other areas of the kitchen.

When I opened the refrigerator door, it was like the hand of god pressing down upon my face, and my eyes shone with the glory of the lord, and then I realized I was crying because my nose was just that offended. The stench was in the fridge, no question about it.

Thus began the process of systematically picking shit up off the shelves, recalling how old that shit actually was, checking for science experiments in the Tupperware, and generally searching for the offending food stuff. I did the same in the freezer, just for good measure. Goodbye goose balogna ring (don't ask).

Let me just be clear about one thing: I run a You will not find 4-year-old yogurt in there, nor old cheese, nor slimy lunch meat, nor wilted carrots. I clear the damn thing out once a week on Trash Day Eve and throw away any leftovers from 3 or more days ago, as well as any questionable items or unknowns. There is no spilling in my refrigerator. There are no unidentified sticky puddles or bugs or hairs. Basically, I already knew exactly what was in there and I knew that none of it smelled like Brad Pitt.

Nevertheless, I sprayed down each shelf and wiped it clean, hoping that would solve the problem. By about Sunday, when I could smell the stench FROM THE LIVING ROOM, I got pissed off.

I pulled that big fucker out from the cabinetry (which was built around the unit as snug as a condom on a bratwurst, I might add). I jimmied and jammied that thing until I could see behind it to check for dead mice. Because that was the only explanation left.

And then I grabbed a flashlight from my handy Flashlight and Screwdriver drawer, and I checked underneath the fridge, at which point I also realized I could have seen behind the fridge via the flashlight (without all the yanking and swearing and sweating)((now that I type that out, it sounds sexier than it actually was)).

NOTHING. No rotting animals. No wayward grapes. Not even any centipedes, which is a whole other issue, but one I'm willing to work with because THEY DON'T SMELL LIKE BRAD PITT.

Thus began the pouting phase of my refrigerator caper. I stomped around the kitchen, grabbing bleach solution and paper towels, pulling each item from its chilly, ripe respite and scrubbing the hell out of each shelf and drawer until nothing remained but the scent of bleach any a glimmer of hope.

Then I returned each item to its respective shelf (pausing to reconsider my egg carton placement in the grand scheme of things and opting to switch up the location of the beer), and then I poured a generous amount of Arm & Hammer baking soda into an open dish and placed that square in the middle of the fridge to help soak of the aroma of death, and called it a day.

And when I got home last night, the first thing Gray said to me was, "Fridge stinks again." And it did. IT DID. God help me, this thing is stronger than BLEACH. THERE IS NO HOPE.

I'm basically gibbering mad at this point, the muscle below my left eye has been twitching like a severed hand for three days now.

And that thing you smell? The one like Brad Pitt with a pineapple yeast infection?

That's dinner.