Yeah, I should probably detail for you what has been going on in the past few months. Especially considering quite a bit has been out and about. I promise to talk at length about my intense desire to hit every bride-to-be in Terry Costa with a sock full of quarters, but today I have a different a story for you all. A story of triumphs. A story of romance. A story of housing concerns.
As I listen to Tony Sunshine serenade Lumidee with her comparative affinity to meteorological events, I am reminded of two things. First of all, Tony Sunshine is no Timbaland. I've already made arrangements for the eventual nuptials between me and Tim (Timba?? 'Land?? What does a rap producer like to be called by? Probably just 'baby').
And moving on, it was only this past morn that I heard what I consider to be possibly the stupidest question of my March 07. I realize what an epic statement that is, especially considering I had a trainer friend of mine ask me why I was sweating after I just got off of treadmill after running for 20 minutes. It was a mystery indeed. Anyway, to give a little background, I'm not entirely sure what happened, but apparently the pipes in my duplex decided today that they had officially had enough. Apparently after 60+ yrs of existence, there was a mini rebellion and the drainage system made some sort of unholy union with my shower and watergeddon commenced. Interestingly enough, none of this actually affected me since I was on the second floor. Not so for my unlucky 50+ pilot counterpart.
I personally think this problem has been going on for awhile, but normally my showers average 5 minutes or so for two very good reasons. Firstly, I am always late because I hit the snooze alarm too much. Secondly, at some point my mother's pet plumber decided that I didn't have enough water pressure, so he removed whatever mitigating factor existed between the shower head and the water tower. As a result, my shower feels like somebody hurled a bucket of pennies at my face, and, more importantly, hot water runs out very quickly. Ironically, I took a slightly longer shower today for beauty related reasons. And while this shower was coming to a squeaky clean close, my downstairs neighbor was trying to desperately stem the tide bubbling up out of his own shower.
Anyway, to make a long story slightly longer, when I turned off my shower, I heard this continuous buzzing of the doorbell and knocking on my door. I always kind of pray desperately in those situations that whoever it is will just get the snot away from me, but the urgency of the knocking made me think otherwise. Trust me when I say no one loves answering the door soaking wet more than I, so after some impressive cursing, I managed to throw on a robe and some slippers and dripped my way down the stairs to my front door to have this conversation:
Downstairs Neighbor's Girlfriend: Hey, we're having a water problem down here.
Me: What's wrong?
GF: Well, we called your mother, but basically the drains are all backed up and the water is bubbling up into Jim's shower.
Me: Gross.
GF: Yeah I think your shower was making it worse, so don't run any water please.
Me: Sure no problem.
GF: Were you taking a shower?
Me: ... *looks down at wet robe*... What?
GF: Yeah, don't do that.
Me: Right.
I mean, I really, truly enjoy statements of the obvious. Used either ironically or just in everyday speech, I find them to kind of be hilarious. I have an odd sense of humor, but there it is. However, when problems are afoot and I would give my right arm for a towel, for some reason it just makes me surly. It's kind of like saying, "You probably got food poisoning from eating something" or "I bet you don't like bleeding profusely." It elicits a sort of "Good job, asshat" response in me that I normally try to avoid.
Well, I'm sure you're all just on the edge of your seat. Fear not, the drainage problems were caused by tree roots. I know, it totally makes sense. I hate Nature.
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3 comments:
hey great, it's time for the quarterly update. which is good because i don't think i could stand the disappointment of seeing the story of the poor dumb starbucks girl again.
anyway, this is a good story and all, and bonus points for the inclusion of the word asshat, but what i really want to know is how you came to realize your drunken vanity (refer to About Me). i bet there's a great story there, but i always have been partial to anecdotes that begin something like, "ok, now keep in mind i was shitfaced at the time . . ."
How dare you sir, I had six, SIX posts in '06. That is clearly more frequent than quarterly. I know you're a liberal arts major, but I also know you're capable of division post Mathematics or whatever it was called. After this I may not even tell you why I hate 18 yr old brides now.
Touche. You are indeed a worthy rival, having hit me where it hurts: my inability to do long division. Though I must say bringing the whole "humanities" thing into this was a low blow. I know (ok, I have heard tell of) several folk-and-myth majors who can, if compelled by imminent peril, do elementary sums. It's just that doing so requires them to consider an entirely new class of signifier, and the sudden expansion of a hitherto narrow analysis-field creates a sensation of vertigo. Highly disorienting and uncomfortable for the humanities student and those who care for them, so they try not to do it often.
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