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November 08, 2008
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I was looking at the fishing pictures posted on the always funny Phukuhp's profile and it reminded me of something that happened a long while back. 

My late husband absolutely loved deep sea fishing.  Whenever he had the chance, he would go.  I like it too, but am too ADD to sit for a three hour charter ride with a bunch of people who seem to think they are the only ones who got up at 3 a.m. to catch the boat and decide to stretch out across what little sitting there is.  Anyway, it was in June and my husband had just been out fishing with my Dad and my brother.  Curtis (my late husband) had caught almost 40 lbs. of redfish and when he got home, we put it in the freezer.  About two weeks later, he was scheduled to go on a business trip to Seattle.  Since I didn't want to stay home alone, I went on a trip to Cozumel with a huge group of friends from work.  We both left on a Sunday, but I was scheduled to get home on Thursday, him on Saturday.  We go our merry ways, and I have an awesome time.  I snorkled, drank, ate, drank, danced, and drank.  It was made perfect by the fact that I didn't get the BG's (bubble guts) at all during the entire trip.

When Thursday rolls around, my fabulously tanned and partially still drunk self roll into the airport.  My friends and I get our luggage, and they drive me home.  When we get there, people are helping me get my stuff, needing water or to use the bathroom, etc.  Remember here that these are people I work with.  That being said, I unlock the front door and walk inside along with the co-workers.  For some reason it is hotter than a four balled bobcat inside my house.  I take a few more steps, noticing that no one is coming any farther into my house.  Then, it hits me:  THE MOST HORRIBLE SMELL KNOWN TO MANKIND.  Even though I have no clue what it is, I could have thrown a thrombo and died right there on the spot.  In fact, if I remember correctly, I was praying for this to happen.  Mind you, my house is spotless, so I have no idea what is going on.  And it was HOT.  Not Paris Hilton hot, but Tarzan hot.  African desert hot.  The friends beat a hasty retreat and I know there is no point in bringing anything to the next potluck at work.  The won't eat it because they think I'm nasty.  By this time, the smell is starting to make me throw up in my mouth a little.  I go to the A/C unit to turn it down, and the bastard won't come on.  Not good.  Then, I realize I have no lights.  That's right kids...no power at all.  I head out back to check the breaker box and for a much needed breath of clean smelling air.  Unfortunately, we live near the county dump's landfill.  Even though it is 5 miles away, when the wind blows just right, you can smell it.  The wind was of course blowing just right.  I see that the main breaker is blown, so I flip it back on thinking everything will be back to normal.  I go back inside, and the lights work, but no A/C.  Then the true horror of my situation surfaces.  When I head into the kitchen, I see a huge and disgusting puddle.  By this time, I'm breathing through my mouth and nothing sinks in right away.  Until I open the freezer door.  Yes, you guessed it.  The fridge had been without power, so the frozen redfish was no longer frozen.  I'm not even really sure it was still fish.  It looked like the blob had moved in and taken up residence.  I find myself at the back door again and setting the world record for projectile vomiting.  I call my dad to come over and check on the A/C, thinking somehow if I could fix the air, the smell wouldn't seem so toxic.  No luck there.  Turns out we had a huge electrical storm several hours after we both left town, and lightening struck the A/C unit causing the entire house breaker to go out.  Damn it to hell! 

Needless to say, that night led to a full on telephone bitchfest about how it was all his fault.  I knew it wasn't, but I was pissed I was there all alone to clean up the mess.  (We did laugh about it later)

So, I tried for all of five seconds to clean out the fridge.  I even put Vick's under my nose like they do at the morgue to no avail.  I tape that baby up and single handedly move that heavy-ass pile of stink into the back yard.  Unfortunately, that does nothing for the smell.  It is still Iraq hot in the house and no air is moving so it reeks.  The next day, the A/C guy shows up to replace the unit fried in the storm.  He doesn't make it three feet into my house without screaming "whoa".  I'm trying to tell him what happened, only he's not paying attention.  He asks me if all of my cats are accounted for.  When I tell him I don't have cats, he goes on to ask if I'm sure because it smells like a cat died.  By now, he's found a can of carpet fresh I have sitting out and is holding it under his nose to try and escape the smell.  For the rest of the afternoon, he keeps that can handy and holds it there anytime he has to enter the vortex of death house.  Near the end of the day, I'm in the kitchen and hear him talking on the phone.  I don't think much about it until I hear him tell the person on the other end about how disgusting the smell is.  He goes on to colorfully describe it, so I come around the corner to reveal myself.  HE KEEPS TALKING ABOUT HOW GROSS IT IS!!!  By now I am praying again for that thrombo to strike me.  When he gets off the phone, he casually tells me that it's no big deal, but him and the other techs have a running contest to see who gets the nastiest house to go work in and he thinks he won.  Glad I could help you penis wrinkle!  If I'd only known, I would have saved some fish for the A/C in his service truck.

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