Gotta Do WHAT with the Fridge?!

I've lucked into many good movies on television this weekend. Woman of the Year, Good Morning, Vietnam, 61*, Gandhi, Lean on Me, etc. Solid stuff, right? Nice variety. I played me some bocce ball last night after a good day of getting my place pretty tidy, some laundry done, a nice walk taken, and had planned on a great bike ride today, but the kitchen breaker blew last night (except for the stove breaker, thank fucking god) so I now have only one plug for the "west wing" (snicker, snort) of my apartment. The fridge is in the centre of the 4x4 floor, plugged into the oven.

And, disgusting, might I add? Was, I should say.

Right in front of my fridge--like, abutted to my fridge, shimmied in on an angle that begins exactly where my fridge ends, wedged right hard between the wall and cupboard, is a RADIATOR.

My fridge is in there tighter than tight, man, cupboard on one side, wall on the other, and a radiator beginning literally 1/2 inch from the front of the fridge. Pulling it out? Not easily done.

So, I last did it when I painted five years ago.

I think it was wine and soy sauce all puddled under there. And the dust, oh, the dust. Found my coffee scoop and Mom's lame-ass '70s pot trivet I love so much. This is good. Disgusting, but good. Oh, was it bad.

I've now spent, oh, much of the last four hours (with tv breaks but working through the weaker acts and scenes, and all the commercials) scrubbing the fuck out of my kitchen.

Yes, all the accrued fuck. There's no other word. It's not dirt. It's not filth. It's not grime. It's much, much worse. It's fuck. Kinda how you feel when you see it. Fuck-fuck. How you feel when confronted with the task. Fuck. How you react as you take your first swipe at the congealing grime soaked with your cleaner of choice. Fu-u-u-u-u-ugh-ck.

I have scrubbed the fuck out, baby.

Awesome. I've been wanting to do that for a while, actually, so I'm doing as thorough a job as I can. I've scoured all the walls, the appliance. I still need to vacuum the disgusting back of the refrigerator, though. All that dust--a whole family tree of dust bunnies--is probably some kinda combustible fire hazard or something.

In between, when watching tv, I'm bein' all crazy and doing stomach crunches and weightlifting. Knowing I'm down 40 pounds now is such a fucking power surge. I can't explain it. I'm so stoked to start pushing harder at this again. Getting a second wind, as it were. It means my metabolism has finally shifted. I'm keen.

I'm trying to use this whole fridge thing, for example, as a sort of psychological boon. Telling myself I'm wiping clean my culinary sins of the past, and starting fresh. Next weekend I think I'll gut my fridge and get rid of anything I think questionable. Time to get real with all this. Maybe I'll do that tonight.

Like, I want to toss all my spices in the next month (it'll be $30-40 to replace 'em en masse, so I'd rather stretch it out) so I have zesty, fresher seasonings. What I got's so old it's just pointless to use it. Ooh, boy, another weak-ass dish. Yippy skippy.

I want to make some rubs for meats and fish, so I can keep eating well.

Speaking of: I officially really dig cod. Who knew? So I'm buying a big bag of fillets this week and making myself some more lemon herb butter and some funky rubs. Found a brown sugar, cinnamon, chile, and cardamom rub for fish that I want to make with fresh seasonings, for instance.

So, yeah, cool. A kitchen do-over. Smells better in my house already. Cleaner. All I've used was my scrubbing compound and vinegar, so, yay enviro-me!

I'm sure as hell getting a workout, too. But, cool. It'll be done. Awesome.

But I think I can start eating much more fish now. I liked the cod. This is good. Alaskan, eh? Tuesday's Costco Day!

This posting has been brought to you in part by making lemonade from life's lemons. Have a good one. I, oddly, am. (Weird. Enjoying cleaning. Nay, enjoying accomplishment!)