When it rains, it pours

Just in case I was keeping track, this is what 2011 would amount to:

  • A BBQ that is busted due to a wind storm that flipped it over. You know. That apparatus we use to cook several times a week. Or that would be used.
  • A car that has been taken to the shop twice
  • A knee surgery next month, which will amount to $thousands$ in out-of-pocket expenses.
  • Owing a big, daunting, ugly wad of cash for our taxes.

Jamie says bad things come in threes. But what about fours, fives, sixes and sevens? May I remind you that last year at this exact time, I was gleefully getting ready to cover the 2010 Vancouver Olympic Games for Microsoft Office?

My, what a difference a year makes.

As for our latest:

We came home Sunday night from a glorious trip to Crested Butte (my second favorite on earth after my beloved Waterton). I was flying high and my only plans were to unpack, chill and maybe even catch up on some shows on my DVR.

What I ended up doing: Crisis management.

I figured out something was wrong when I was cooking dinner. I was making baked potato skins and had grabbed some bacon from the freezer. But here’s the (not-so) funny thing: it was no longer frozen. Then, much to my horror I realized the freezer was no longer working and everything was dethawed.

Did I mention we had hundreds of dollars of meat/food in there?

We were gone for three days and had no idea when The Great Meltdown occurred. Jamie and I spent the evening dumping most everything and transferring what little we could salvage to the dilapidated fridge in our garage we reserve for soda.

The damage? $750 for a new compressor. We’re not sure if it was due to the fact that since we’ve lived in our house, we have never once cleaned the coils.

In my defense, I didn’t even know the coils underneath the fridge needed to be cleaned every few months.

The serviceman seemed to think the problem is that the compressor is under warranty for five years and it’s been seven since we’ve had our Whirlpool fridge and it had simply run its course.

Either way, it sucks.

So, we’ve been scrounging around trying to figure out if we repair it, if we can get a cheaper quote, or if we just spring for a new fridge (ours is valued around $1,200). Through it all, I somehow managed to hold it together even when Jamie and I were arm-deep in defrosted chicken juice.

“Well, look on the bright side, Jamie. There is no one in this world I’d rather be doing this with.”

He looked at me, stone-faced.

“I retract that statement,” I continued. “If I had a maid, I’d make her do it.”

I want 2010 back.

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