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Manic Monday

On Sunday night as I was running the dishwasher, a pipe broke loose under the sink and began to shoot water out at a decent pressure. Luckily, I happened to be in the kitchen when this happened as I was wiping up a pee spot that my geriatric pug had recently made.

My first bold move was to shut off the dishwasher. Upon opening the cabinet under the sink, I was fairly alarmed to see (and feel) a wave of water deposit several cleaning supplies housed under the kitchen sink on the floor, much like an ocean wave does with seaweed and dead fish. Shit. I summoned the BF from upstairs with my amazing vocal abilities and he did his best to hold back the flood while I ran outside and turned off the water at the main valve. I finished by attempting to use the shower squeegee to move some water outside while the BF attempted to get our landlord into action with email and phone calls.

Let me backtrack by mentioning that we are renting a place that has horrible, rusty pipes among a host other things. Our landlord choses to “fix” things cheaply, which is to say half-assed, if he even acknowledges our maintenance request at all. This method of “fixing” things has already resulted in numerous plumbing visits, which is why I could locate and shut off the main valve in the first place.

We go to bed Sunday night with no word back from our landlord – for the purpose of this story, let’s call him BOB – about when an emergency plumber will arrive. Monday morning is when BOB calls to inform us that our regular contractor is showing up around noon, but that I should call him to “make sure”.  Just whatever, BOB, I need to take a shower.

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Party in the cul-de-sac

Did I mention that our driveway is getting ripped up today too? Completely separate incidents that came together to make this the Perfect Storm of Misery. Our contractor didn’t have the easiest access to our house and had to take several trips to his truck.

Finally, he disappeared and didn’t return for maybe 2 hours. I assumed he just said to hell with this and walked out on his job, but I heard activity as he had just let himself back in (why not? He left without saying anything 2 hours ago, right?) and got back to work. As it turns out, this job was too big for him and he had gotten a real-maybe plumber.

attachment-1As the day wore on, the real-maybe plumber couldn’t get the job done either (insert circus music) because the crap-ass pipe kept breaking and they couldn’t attach the new pipe to the crappy one. I creeped on the action from an upstairs window and this is our regular contractor guy yelling on his phone. I wish I had one of those star trek universal translators, as I am assuming that he is talking to BOB and this can be filed under: JUICY stuff.  But, as I do not speak that language, I must only guess.

I took Leo for a short walk and came back to see BOB in my kitchen along with the regular contractor. The real-maybe plumber had migrated out to the patio where the work had moved and delivered the worst news ever. It wasn’t getting done today. He didn’t have the right tools. Meanwhile inside, I could see the other two gesturing at the cabinets, ceiling and pantry which is on the opposite side of the room. Uh-oh, there is no scenario where this is going to be good. So glad I only rent this place.

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Apparently, only the pipes that were easy (read:cheap) to get done were actually done some unknown amount of time ago. The plan was that another plumber was meeting BOB here at 6pm to do an estimate on replacing all the rest of the pipes with copper piping AND all the kitchen cabinets replaced too.

They all leave and I rush to get Leo fed, medicated and sequestered again before the clown show resumes. He sniffs the air as I carry him down the stairs and begins to bark and howl, carrying on like a rabid beast until his face is in his food bowl.

The next plumber arrives 20 minutes early and is possibly 5% fluent in english. He looks at the whole house for maybe 5 minutes and then tries to get me to okay the estimate. He doesn’t understand that I am just the renter and calls his son to talk to me. Finally BOB shows up and they walk around my house again. Neither of them can understand each other and they stand out in the garage repeating themselves until the plumber calls his son again. A deal is struck that does not involve kitchen cabinet tear down as the pipes are in the ceiling. They will be back Wednesday morning to do the full replacement and it will take 1 day.

Sigh. It’s Monday night and I need a shower already.

I made this.

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Ever since I sent Dustin’s passport to him on a work trip (as his ID got stolen in a chain of mishaps that necessitated additional identifying documents) and put a bunch of unannounced glitter in the envelope too, I have been wanting to Create With Glitter.

I was passing a depressing lunch hour in the Target close to my work and happened upon an assortment of brown paper mache animals in the new crafts aisle. Yaaaasssss! And yes, I said this aloud, but thankfully my voice doesn’t carry. Like at all. I proceeded to purchase the t-Rex model and made a mental note to come back for the pig.

I acquired some orange glitter last week and tonight was the night! My plan was to spray the glue on and then shake that little guy in a large freezer bag full of glitter. This particular glue dries very fast, and I reasoned that it would be ideal for the shake-n-bake scenario that he would be facing. I really should have done a dry run first, because as soon as the glue was fully applied and I was .0456 seconds away from shoving him in the bag full of glitter, I realized my folly. There were two problems, actually. A two-fold folly, if you will.

My first thought was “shit, he is going to stick to the inside of the bag”, followed closely with “double shit, he is too big for this bag”. I set him down and my hands were already sticking to his body. Three-fold folly, I guess. left with no other options, I began madly flinging glitter around, dumping it on his body and trying to press it on his underbelly with my hand that is already coated orange glitter the size of a grain of sand.

More or less happy with the final result, but mostly wanting to get the glitter hand taken care of before it was too late, I went to wash my hands and mindlessly left a trail of orange glitter handprints not unlike the blue variety that Tobias left around the house on Arrested Development.

I actually had a wave of panic wash over me as I could NOT get that glitter off! By the old gods and the new, I have glitterscale – not that you can wash off greyscale! Fix yourself Sir Jorah, we need you to not be a bad ass stone man!

As I type this now, my left hand is still very sticky. I have glitter, sticky residue and now pug fur on that hand, and a mess out on the patio. But I am going back for that pig tomorrow.

She blinded me with silence

yes, I know, it’s actually *science*. But damn, it’s so quiet in this house right now that those are the words to that song. The actual right now words. It’s a thing.

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Plastic albums

This is all I have left in the massively ongoing project of ripping all of my CDs to my hard drive. It has been months of looking at grocery bags of CDs as they migrated from the unripped to the ripped side of the desk.

the wisdom of Bilbo Baggins

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.”

Tell it like is Bilbo, you sweet-ass halfling, tell it like it is.

a walk in the white

February 5.  A break in the freeze.  A thaw, if you will.  And we did.  This was the first real walk that Leo and I took in over a month that didn’t end with my carrying him in all of his 30 pound pug glory back to the house.

He was a massive spaz in the very recent snowfall and it was delightful to watch after a trying month of cold weather and a double eye infection that rendered him even more of a dog-blob than usual.

Also delightful was to have the camera in hand again and to grab a few shots of my favorite subject.

the private bathroom path

problematic inconsistencies in snow depths

flakes and fur

catching snow on tongues

Beginning is so hard to do…

Almost every time that I am faced with a blank page and the possibility of eyes besides my own pair looking at my groupings of letters, I hear Kevin’s voice from Kids in the Hall.  In that high, nearly out of control warble that he is known to do, I hear the words “Write what you know! Write what you know! What do I know?”

Exactly.  What do I know?  I am currently trying to imagine what part of my insides are the most interesting to warrant putting on the outside and my stream of conscious is really quite fascinating (to me) and so there we are.  A perfect beginning, to be sure.

The silence is unbroken and the darkness is giving no token or something like that.  Lenore!  I hear Leo breathing heavily and the computer humming behind me. Did I mention that it smells of corn and old books?  A plane flies overhead and my stomach makes one of those weird noises that it has been doing lately.  Last night it sounded like an alarm was going off somewhere down the darkened corridors of some old abandoned school whos walls are the color of sea foam and lit only with the emergency lights, but it was actually my stomach.  Alien incubation has been mentioned as an exciting possibility.

How is that for fascinating?