Last night we had some of the most amazing lightning I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen closer, I’ve seen brighter, but I’ve never seen lightning so constant it was as though somebody had switched on a strobe light for three hours. It made me want to go outside and reenact that one scene from Flashdance. I decided against it, though, much to the presumed delight of my neighbors.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my refrigerator is dying. This constitutes both good news and bad news. It’s good because I have come to desperately despise the side-by-side, no matter how many bells and whistles it has. Dude, if I can’t put a large pizza box in there, I don’t want it. Plain white top-freezer jobbie, here I come.
The bad news is…I must now clean it out/off. Why is there potato salad in there? We don’t especially care for potato salad, and I have no memory of either buying or eating it. And the top is a nightmare—this is where everything that doesn’t have a regular home gets tossed. I made the mistake of pulling on the wrong thing and the entire mess avalanched on my head.
What’s up there? Well, the list includes but is not limited to:
* Nine rolls of wrapping paper. I used to keep it under my bed, but wrapping paper rolls and cats? It looked like NYC threw a ticker tape parade behind the dustruffle veil.
* The AirSoft guns, a bucket of BBs and the tall kid’s safety headgear. I wish the headgear had landed on my head before the bucket of BBs did. Ouch.
* Enough World Series Champion Red Sox paraphernalia to choke a dark horse. I went seriously insane that year. Shot glasses, pennants, posters, keychains, waterbottles, bobbleheads, Christmas tree ornaments, you name it. If it bears the words “Red Sox” and “World Series Champions”, I own two of it.
* 234,834,837 school art projects. I might have a world record amount of dusty construction paper here in my kitchen.
* My favorite poster, still awaiting the proper size frame—Darth Vader reaching out his death grip hand, with the caption “Who’s Your Daddy?”. I would save it in a fire. Seriously. (If I could find it here in the avalanche.)
* My Betty Crocker cookbook. I need to hide that again, but in a better spot.
I must go open the crisper drawer now. Think of me.
I have a new side by side in the kitchen, and an old freezer on top of fridge model in the garage. That’s where we store the pizza. And pop. Some of the new models are actually the old style. Very cool. Enjoy fridge shopping. :coffee:
New fridge, good. Cleaning out fridge…very scary. Be brave!:hide:
Ooooh, a new fridge? I may have to hate you.
But before you automatically go for the freezer on top model, check out some of the cool freezer on bottom offerings. Dude — they have pull-out baskets…
Our stipulation is that we have to be able to store seven gallons of milk in the damn thing. Hubby drinks whole, I drink 1 percent, kids drink 2. And even though two of them don’t even live here, they still guzzle the milk whenever they come over.
Actually, what we need is a cow…
We don\’t have a garage, so that\’s out. Frankly, even if we did there\’s a waiting list for the space—Mustang, the MGY, 5 ATVs, two trailers, lawnmower…that doesn\’t even include the 3 vehicles we drive every day. So my chances of getting a 2nd fridge, should we ever get a garage, are still pretty slim. :rofl:
I\’m trying to be brave, Charli, but…I\’m not the most vigilant of leftover tossers and it\’s scary in there.
But before you automatically go for the freezer on top model, check out some of the cool freezer on bottom offerings. Dude â€” they have pull-out basketsâ€¦
But…but…it\’s upside down! :hide: My stepmother has one and…it\’s upside down.
See, if you hand me a bologna and cheese sandwich and the bologna\’s on top, I have to turn it over before I can eat it. If I\’m at a bbq and I have the bun all made up and the grill guy either puts the burger cheese down on the bottom bun or—worse—puts it on the condimented top bun, I have to fix it before I can eat it.
I have upside-down issues.
Oh, trust me, I know what you mean. The freezer-on-bottom fridges ARE upside down.
But, dude…there are pull-out baskets…
I mean, think about it. No prehistoric, gray ground beef hidden in the far back corner of the freezer, ever again.
Well, unless you never pull out the bottom basket, I s’pose. :tomato:
Geez, Shan, how big IS the top of that refrigerator???:crazy:
I just had to get a new fridge, too, and don’t like the freezer-on-the-bottom models either. They seem to be much more door than storage space, though I could be wrong.
30\” wide x 29 inches deep x 20 1/2\” tall to the ceiling. The key is to keep cramming. It\’s kind of like a demented Jenga game. Unfortunately, I pulled out the wrong piece of construction paper. :hide:
Despite my upside-down issues, we just picked out a bottom-freezer model.
But we got to discussing your upside-down issues at dinner, and the hubby and #4 not only totally sympathize (I believe their reaction was “Who the hell eats cheese on the BOTTOM of the burger?!”), there ensued a discussion about the proper order for all the other burger accoutrements, as well. Hubby likes lettuce UNDER the hamburger, but the kid said, nope, ’cause that way the burger juices can’t soggify the bun.
And, yes, that’s an exact quote.
So thank you for providing a topic for dinner conversation today, m’dear.
Oh, and I may still have to hate you, since I now have serious pull-out freezer drawer envy. :rant:
I don’t like my buns overly soggified, but mayo is the only thing that can between the burger and the bottom bun. My normal stack—bottom bun, burger, cheese, pickles, tomato, lettuce, condiments, top bun. :rofl: Whoppers drive me crazy because that shredded lettuce invades all the other layers.
They had two different types of bottom-freezer models: A swing door with pull-out wire drawers and one where the entire freezer is a drawer. We went with the swing door because it just seemed more rugged—don’t need to pull the drawer out every single time a boy wants an ice cream cup. (I hate cleaning tracks—one of the reasons I don’t have a minivan. Things that slide never slide long for me.)