And the fridge rode shotgun
Jun. 26th, 2013 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janestarzAfter numerous delays I finally got to pick up my new fridge today.
Don't get me wrong, I hardly slept a wink, dreaming of Dusty most of the night, and finishing my book between two and three am because if I can choose between guilt-ridden dreams or a few hours less sleep, it's not a difficult choice to make.
Work was long and tedious and afterward I drove to Tilburg to finally pick up my fridge. It's a free hand-me-down from Simon (sponsored dancer, very nice guy) that's 140 cm tall. After measuring my car I was afraid the fridge wouldn't fit, as from the front seats to the rear hatch was 125 cm on a good day, but pulling out the backseat and pushing the passenger-side chair all the way forward created just enough room to wedge the fridge in and have my fleece jacket as a buffer between the fridge's corner and the glass of my rear window.
I was too late for the Maroccan evening, organised by house master Harry and Mostafa and two of his colleagues from Sefkat next door, but I had sent Guus a message that I'd be late, so there was no problem! I was handed a cup of tomato soup and some spicy bread to start with and then enjoyed lovely couscous, the best grilled potatoes I've had in a while and several other dishes. I like how Maroccan food has the vegetables cooked in a way that they seem to have exploded, while I'm normally more of an al dente cooker. Quite a difference.
The meal was finished with an introduction round, Greek yoghurt with honey and walnuts, and a carrot juice, orange juice and honey cocktail. They also turned the music up quite a bit, and what was probably Maroccan dance music is still hard to talk through when it's turned up to 11.
Then I lugged the fridge upstairs with Huub, and started to clean the damned thing. I'm still not sure if Simon bought a new one because this one is so dirty. In any case, I used Ajax "festival of flowers" which sounds like I might return to my room to find a bunch of ripped-apart poppies because no party is quite complete without some heroin, or some such. (The mind, while scrubbing, gets to wander around a bit, as you can tell.)
We're currently without hot water, so I'm now going to boil as much hot water as I can to wash my hair; thanks to the €1.99 Ikea plastic trash bin, which doubles quite nicely as a bucket (and has done so on several occasions).
I might have to re-scrub the fridge with bleach tomorrow, if we have hot water again, but for now it doesn't smell of dead fermenting dog anymore.
Don't get me wrong, I hardly slept a wink, dreaming of Dusty most of the night, and finishing my book between two and three am because if I can choose between guilt-ridden dreams or a few hours less sleep, it's not a difficult choice to make.
Work was long and tedious and afterward I drove to Tilburg to finally pick up my fridge. It's a free hand-me-down from Simon (sponsored dancer, very nice guy) that's 140 cm tall. After measuring my car I was afraid the fridge wouldn't fit, as from the front seats to the rear hatch was 125 cm on a good day, but pulling out the backseat and pushing the passenger-side chair all the way forward created just enough room to wedge the fridge in and have my fleece jacket as a buffer between the fridge's corner and the glass of my rear window.
I was too late for the Maroccan evening, organised by house master Harry and Mostafa and two of his colleagues from Sefkat next door, but I had sent Guus a message that I'd be late, so there was no problem! I was handed a cup of tomato soup and some spicy bread to start with and then enjoyed lovely couscous, the best grilled potatoes I've had in a while and several other dishes. I like how Maroccan food has the vegetables cooked in a way that they seem to have exploded, while I'm normally more of an al dente cooker. Quite a difference.
The meal was finished with an introduction round, Greek yoghurt with honey and walnuts, and a carrot juice, orange juice and honey cocktail. They also turned the music up quite a bit, and what was probably Maroccan dance music is still hard to talk through when it's turned up to 11.
Then I lugged the fridge upstairs with Huub, and started to clean the damned thing. I'm still not sure if Simon bought a new one because this one is so dirty. In any case, I used Ajax "festival of flowers" which sounds like I might return to my room to find a bunch of ripped-apart poppies because no party is quite complete without some heroin, or some such. (The mind, while scrubbing, gets to wander around a bit, as you can tell.)
We're currently without hot water, so I'm now going to boil as much hot water as I can to wash my hair; thanks to the €1.99 Ikea plastic trash bin, which doubles quite nicely as a bucket (and has done so on several occasions).
I might have to re-scrub the fridge with bleach tomorrow, if we have hot water again, but for now it doesn't smell of dead fermenting dog anymore.
