It's a long story, so bear with me. I'll try and be brief.
When we first moved, our postage stamp of a yard was unfenced. Then we got a puppy. So we built a cute little wooden lattice fence to keep my puppy safe.
Then, we got this chest freezer so that we could store all the meat from all the wild boars and such that sunshine kills. It has to live in the yard. I know, tacky. I might be a redneck. Joke on, I'm with you. But it is a necessary evil.
Then the neighbors gave us a picnic table. Much appreciated, even if it meant our yard was beginning to feel smaller and smaller as it filled up with things.
Well, Sunshine and his partner in crime started filling up our yard with more and more shit. Deep fryers and parts for them. Hunting gear. Spare tanks of propane. It was horrible. It looked like Sanford and Sons lived here. Not OK.
So I threw a shit stomping fit and told Sunshine he had to get a storage building and clean up the yard. He actually did it. He went to his warehouse, found a large red-painted wooden thing with a door and a roof ("DANGER: NO SMOKING" painted all over the outside of it, which is most cool) and brought it home. He extended the fence a few feet to make room and cleaned up the mess.
So we rearranged the tiny yard to make it more navigable. This meant that the chest freezer moved from under the awning to the unprotected space near the back of the bus.
Well, it finally rained in Texas, y'all. Judging from what I saw yesterday, about a foot over the last month to six weeks.
What did I see yesterday, you ask?
I saw the bottom two thirds of my chest freezer filled with a solid block of ice. Rainwater had been leaking in since we moved it away from the protection of the awning.
There is a lot of meet in that freezer, y'all. Pork. Wild boar. Venison. One package of buffalo wings. A package of shredded cheese. Lots of meat.
And it was now all frozen inside this giant block of ice. Fuck.
I couldn't just let it defrost on its own. That would be wasting lots and lots of meat. Also, the plug that you pull so that the water drains when you defrost the freezer? Under 3 fucking feet of ice.
So I borrowed an ice pick from the neighbor and went to work. And hour later, my progress was not even noticeable. We're not talking about frost, here, people. Ice. Solid ice. Like the shit that sank the Titanic.
I needed one of two things: 1) a German, because they're known for their precision, their mechanical abilities, their minds that just work well for figuring out problems; or B) a thermonuclear bomb.
I couldn't find a thermonuclear bomb, but I DO know a german. So I called zee german. With his help, I got about two-thirds of the way through this six foot thick chunk of ice. (OK, so maybe the damn block of ice didn't actually grow during the day yesterday, but it sure felt like it.) We worked for five fucking hours on that fucking block of ice and didn't get it all out. We made it 2/3 to 3/4 of the way through it.
And we tried everything. Ice pick? Check. Hair dryer? Check. (You should see the end of the hair dryer--the nozzle is now warped and bubbled and shit where it overheated.) Hammer? Check. Screwdriver? Check. Neighbors industrial hot air gun? Check. Paint scraper? Check.
The only thing we didn't try? A drill. Which is exactly what sunshine says he's going to use on it this morning.
No candy got made yesterday. No clothes got ironed. Nada zip zero zilch. And my hands got severely cramped from holding hand tools while head first in a fucking freezer up to my fucking ass.
It doesn't end there.
Our propane tank ran empty last night, sometime in the middle of the damn night. Which meant that the furnace began blowing cold air. I turned it off and we made it through the night with our ceramic electric heaters. Sunshine wakes up to go hunting, decides it's cold in the house, turns on the furnace, and leaves. (I appreciate that he was trying to be sweet and make sure his girlfriend--who is always cold--stayed warm. But really, how did he not see that bright yellow LED light that signals that the pilot light is out?)
So I woke up to a cold house again this morning.
Before I could even have coffee, the phone rings. Sunshine has killed meat and needs the cooler so he can quarter it. (He didn't think to take it with him? Really?) So I traipse over to his partner-in-crime's RV (in my old navy polar fleece pajamas and cowboy boots) to beg HIM to take this cooler to sunshine. Hell, take my car, dude, it gets better gas mileage and also handles better than your secret service suburban.
All of this, before coffee. I have only had one cup of coffee this morning. And my fucking hands? Damn near useless this morning.
So forgive my typos. Forgive my no-candy-making ass. Or not. Just let me have another cup of coffee, please, before we talk about it. Because even god doesn't speak to me before my second cup of coffee.