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LG Refrigerator Model LFX31925ST Can Suck My Ass Through a Flaming Straw.

12 Sep

For those who’ve followed Yummy Awesome off and on, you know about my history with appliances. (Remember the bread machine from Hell?)

Well, forget the bread machine; it’s a walk in sugary cake land compared to my LG refrigerator. I don’t even know where to begin.

The King of Awesome and I bought a house four years ago, and we bought a fridge to put in it. So doing the math, that means said fridge is also four years old.

We picked the LG 30.7-cu ft French Door Refrigerator with Single Ice Maker (Stainless Steel) (Model No. LFX31925ST) because of a few reasons:

  • It was attractive.
  • It could hold a metric fuck-ton of food.
  • The water dispenser was funny.
  • It allegedly could make ice like a mother fucker.
  • It had good reviews and my cousin had it (and she loved it).
  • The LED lights looked pretty boss.

We enjoyed the hell out of it for about six months. Then, the never-ending battle began.

First, we heard a knocking sound. After answering the door to no one for the tenth time, we realized it was the fridge. I Googled. I read the manual. I scratched my head. “Unplug it,” everything more-or-less told me. Great; restart it. Hold down CTRL+ALT+DELETE at the same time. Got it.

I left it unplugged for the recommended four hours. Then I powered LG LFX31925ST back up and the knocking immediately commenced. A few days later, we got the IF error code.

Error code? A refrigerator has an error code? Seriously. This was too damn complicated already. Once again, I turned to Google, the manual, and my scalp. “Fuck this,” I probably said aloud a few times. I called Best Buy. After all, they had strongarmed us into a warranty I didn’t want, and I’m so glad they did.

So the repairman came out. He told me that these fridges were notorious for breaking down. Then he proceeded to show me how to repair it myself because, “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.”

Imagine doing this every three months. I don't have to imagine, because I fucking have to do it.

Imagine doing this every three months. I don’t have to imagine, because I fucking have to do it.

We took the entire freezer apart to get to the ice blower fan, essentially. It gets frozen solid. Every three months like clockwork.

Yeti coolers are the shit.

Yeti coolers are the shit.

Was it manageable? Yeah. First world problems and all that. But then other shit started going down:

  1. The large mechanism that slides into some other shitty, plastic part did something stupid, so the door wouldn’t always close. So guests would shut our fridge but not shut our fridge, which resulted in …
  2. A ripped rubber door seal.
  3. No matter what temp the fridge was set at, food sitting directly on the glass shelves or in two of the three produce drawers would freeze. And we’re not talking about some delightful icy crunch. Entire pieces of fruit, meat, even cheese would freeze solid. Did you know cheese could turn into ice? It can. We cannot store food in half of our fridge. (However, I lined all of the shelves in newspaper, which seems to have helped. Plus, I can now read about the local elections from a year ago every morning while I get the orange juice.)
  4. The freezer fan clogs with ice so often, I have to mention it …
  5. … twice.
  6. The water dispensing button is starting to stick.
  7. The ice dispenser clogs on a daily basis. We keep a knife honer nearby to stab into the bin. I repeat, this happens daily.
  8. It gets fingerprinted to hell. I know this is a hazard of being an appliance in a home where the occupants have hands. But I hate this thing and now I’m just searching for more to add to the list.
  9. The water valve that connects the water line to the fridge wore out. So now we don’t even get water or ice until I replace it.

Guys, I don’t write in this blog that often anymore. I have a child and two dogs and I take care of all of them while trying to work for myself. Blogging has fallen to the wayside because life comes first. However, I am so vehemently pissed off about the thousands of hard-earned dollars I wasted on this refrigerator, that I had to document it. We have a second fridge in our house. We got it for free from an apartment complex that was throwing them away. We keep it in the garage as the King’s beer fridge. Dudes, this fridge (I don’t even know the brand) is probably 20 years old (at least), is ugly as sin, and is chugging away like the King does on a can of craft beer.

Meanwhile, the $2,500 heartache mocks me with a frozen water melon, incessant ticking, and dripping water. Our LG LFX31925ST has become an unfunny joke on our social media pages. My Facebook community and my Instagram followers aren’t even surprised when I bitch about my fridge anymore.

My friends love my sadness.

The fridge has a reputation.

I’ve Googled it so much. I actually found a class action lawsuit about it! The saddest part, however, is I found it a day too late to join. And the message boards dedicated to people suffering like me with this same shitty appliance make this situation even bloodier than it already sounds.

Our goal is to get to five years with this fridge. I don’t know if we’re going to make it. I’m replacing parts on it left and right. But they’re just bandaids. It’s a terrible design made with really crappy parts. If I ever meet anyone who’s an engineer or designer of LG appliances, I cannot promise I won’t punch him/her in the face without saying a word first.

Here’s the model number one more time just for Google. LG LFX31925ST French Door Refrigerator.

 

Updates:

February 9: Mother fucker stopped making ice.

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I had an ice cream sandwich for lunch.

17 May

I haven’t been blogging a lot this week, and I apologize to the three of you who give a shit.

I could throw excuses at you all day about how I’m so busy, I barely have time for lunch (which I always eat lunch), so I had to pick eating over blogging for Yummy Awesome.

Blah blah blah.

But I am taking a moment to tell you about my lunch today. My inner five-year old got her wish and had ice cream and cookies for lunch.

Because Dallas finally got a Cool Haus truck, and I just couldn’t resist.

Just to give you the basic idea of what they sell, you pick a cookie and then you pick an ice cream. Then you gorge.

I had  chocolate chip cookies (my favorite) lovingly cradling Nutella and almond ice cream. It was almost too decadent. But since it’s all that I ate, I managed to lick the last bit off of my fingers without being disgusted at myself.

Don’t tell my doctor.

The only time I looked happier was on my wedding day … probably while eating pie.

Candy Mountain Cocktails

7 Feb

Through the magical powers of Facebook, my husband and I discovered Four Lounge, where we met “Molecular Mixologist” Keith.

Four isn’t a bar, it’s a lounge. But it’s not one of those hoity toity, gotta be seen types of places. It’s more of a tiny you’d-walk-right-past-it-if-you-didn’t-know-it-was-there type of lounges.

And they specialize in awesome mixed drinks.

For example, the Cotton Candy Martini, homemade cotton candy stacked high, and then dissolved with a crisp, icy martini.

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It made me feel like a kid again, only a really sophisticated kid (after all, it made my tongue blue). The final sip tasted like the circus, only without the unfortunate scent of elephant dung and sad lions in your nostrils.

They had plenty more to offer for the savory tooth as well as the sweet tooth (although I hear the cupcake martini is to die for).

Husband had an applewood smoked bacon Old Fashioned. His opinion? “It’s perfect balance of whisky, honey, and meat.” How Ron Swanson son of him.

Anyway, if you’re looking for a chill place to drink something chilly, check out the Four Lounge in Uptown. The price is right (most drinks are around $10, and they’re worth it for the show alone), and the atmosphere is laid back. Tell them Yummy Awesome sent you.

This is the only time I will use the term “froyo.”

20 Sep

Whoever thought the term  froyo was cute is a total dipshit.

I refuse to call it a word. Because I find it insulting. And I love bastardizing words. But froyo? ‘Tarded.

That aside, the concept of frozen yogurt is fantastic. It’s tasty. It skews to the side of healthy.

Oh, and it’s freaking everywhere.

When did frozen snacks go the way of cheap nail salons? Just the other day, I was ordering a small cup of acai berry yogurt with strawberries piled on top, and some person started filing my toenails.

Alright, not really. But it’s an absolute, indisputable truth that you can’t walk a city block without crossing the doorway of a Pink Berry, an Orange Cup, a Red Mango, and three more color/noun combos hawking frozen yogurt.

And call me crazy, but they’re all the same (except Orange Cup has sliced almonds whereas Pink Berry does not—shame on you, Pink Berry). Granted, they each have a signature flavor (like bullshit) that does something great for your small intestine, but they all push the same product—dispenser-vended, frozen slop with crunched/bashed stuff on top.

Not that revolutionary. Tasty. But not revolutionary.

I remember this yogurt trend was huge back in the 80s. Only TCBY and whatever-the-other-big-one-was-called sold frozen yogurt as if it were ice cream. On a cone. Covered in chocolate. Sprinkled in sugar.

So it’s not the exact same trend. But regardless, there will always be a food fad. A few years back, it was cupcakes. Then it was burritos. Now it’s yogurt. And tomorrow, who knows?

When “froyo” comes back a third time, I’ll embrace it again. Only there’d better be a more palatable name for it.

The day the ice cream truck came.

14 Aug

It was 4:30pm and I had just gotten off a conference call that had gone rather poorly. My tummy was rumbling but before I could head to the fridge to forage, our receptionist sent an email with the following subject line:

ICE CREAM truck with FREE ICE CREAM!!!!!!!!!!!

And it deserved every single one of those exclamation points. (Which shows you how excited I was because as a writer, I generally hate exclamation points, let alone 9.)

The ice cream wasn’t anything great. Just plain old soft serve with sprinkles. But what was great, was that it came to ME. Like I had summoned it with my Canadian mind-melding powers. I always knew I was special.

So thank-you, Ice Cream Truck, for making my Friday a little more Friday-y.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear karaoke starting on the mezzanine.

Don’t just take a taxi. Take a Mambo Taxi.

30 Jul

Today is Friday.

Fridays are awesome because as an advertising person, you usually take a long lunch on Fridays (and as a work-for-yourself freelancer, Friday lunches really rock).

And those lunches often involve a drink or two.

Today’s drink: the Mambo Taxi at Taco Diner.

According to Taco Diner’s menu, it’s a combination of “Frappe Sangria & Brandy.” They forget to mention the awesome that’s blended in along with the ice.

It’s the perfect frozen drink to beat the scorching Texas sun (who can resist patio dining?) and even hotter feeling of going back to the office (er, home office).

Thank you, Taco Diner, for making this a good Friday.

Now, I’m going to go take a nap.

Thank you, southernliving.com, for making your images savable.

I have a soft spot for soft serve.

26 Jul

Back in college, my lunch crew and I would always camp out by the soft serve machine.

Mainly because we really enjoyed whatever the hell soft serve is (can’t really say it’s ice cream; can’t really say it’s yogurt).

But we had ulterior motives for sitting near the machine. You see, we were lunchtime sadists.

The soft serve machine had a devious mind of its own. And sometimes, instead of filling a cone or a bowl with the haphazard coil of mushy dairy stuff, it would spray people in the face.

It was the greatest thing to watch. Ever.

The rule was that no one at our table would get soft serve until we witnessed how the machine was behaving that day. And every now and then, we’d burst out laughing at some poor soul forced to head to the next class covered in sugary milk.

And then we’d get our sweet treats from the adjacent freezer.

It was an especially glorious day when there were cookie cones.