21:30 - 2003-12-03
Attack of the Clogs
Until yesterday and today, I haven't felt like doing much anything other than spilling guts and tears over the internet to my Homework-bag-helper friend (who I couldn't be more thankful for, and without whom I know I wouldn't have known the comfort and happiness that I have been reintroduced to over the last couple of days).
So yesterday we went to Chipotle (OH YEAH!) and I was in such a good mood, I said, "Let's go home and ride bikes!"
But Dad answered, "No, cuz I gots me this slow-flushin' terlit at home that I gots ta fix, Dumplin'."
I replied, "Well, I'll haylp yew fix that mean ol' terlit, Pa!"
So began yet another one of those projects that is supposed to take half an hour but ends up taking two full afternoons.
First, Dad had to yank out a huge, gelatinous chunk of material, comprised mostly (we think) of hair, filth, and other things you might wash down a sink.
Then he took out all the ancient, dirty little pipes, and threw 'em away.
That's when it became time for us to unscrew the bolts that held the old faucet on (we decided we better go ahead and replace it. I don't think we're really hicks, but that faucet seriously would've made you think we were.)
And right away we began to realize why plumbers get 30 bucks an hour.
I put on a shower cap to protect my long, lustrious hair from the stinky sink cavity and all its horrid secrets, and got down under there to try and undscrew the wretched bolt, which was difficult to do upside down with a big clunky wrench. See, wrenches never defy the laws of gravity when you most need them to, and that makes me very sad *rubs head*.
Now, you may be wondering why we are working on the sink if it was the toilet that was flushing-slow. The answer is because we love the sink more than the toilet. The sink is the only one in there that's really a part of our family.
So anyways, I loosened the bolt and then Dee got out the teflon tape and started putting it on the new pipes that he'd had for quite some time, along with a new faucet that he planned to put on. You may not think it makes sense to have bought this new faucet back when it was new and waited all the way until now to use it. But what you may not know is that faucets get better with time, and so now our new faucet is ripe and aged to perfection.
But we couldn't put the faucet on just yet because we had to make sure a bunch of these seals and ties and bolts and nuts that go on pipes were the right size. And just about none of them were. So we made three or four trips to Home Depot before we got the right size.
Now you're probably wondering why we didn't just bring the pipes with us so we'd know the right sizes. Well, you're right, it was stupid! Quit wondering stuff!
Dad got fed up with that, and we called it a night.
Then, in the dead of night as I was getting into bed, I heard the one of last things you'd expect to hear outside your window in November:
A baby crying.
Yes! Briefly too, not waling or anything. And I said, "Gina!" in other words, my sister, "I just heard a baby outside."
She said for me to knock it off and go to sleep, which tells me something I should've expected about whether or not I'm viewed as honest.
So I stumbled quickly into my Dad's room and said, "Dad, I heard a baby crying outside."
He said, "You're sure it's not a cat."
But it did not sound like a cat, and it didn't sounds pleased or comfortable, and I wasn't feeling pleased or comfortable either.
See babies don't like cold air, from what these human mothers tell me, therefore I doubt one'd just sit there quietly, or just make a little bit of noise once. Babies demand to be nurtured and comforted, otherwise they'll never shut up. Not unless someone or something SHUTs them up. And I wasn't anxious to run into whatever would be outside shutting up a baby.
(Even though I find myself wanting to shut babies up all the time, it's not exactly the same thing).
So I came in here, with my trusty baseball bat, and turned the computer back on and told someone who lives across town that I heard a baby in an alleyway next to my house.
I'm still not quite sure what I was hoping to accomplish by this, I guess I figured this person would say, "Oh my gosh!" and jump in there car to come and poke around my yard with a flashlight.
What happened was a little more realistic. My friend said, "I have no clue what to do, " and from what I infer, went back to work on something complicated and computer-oriented (in my book anyway).
I write a simple book, one that is probably disappointing in the impressive-number-department, because I never have any time to go to the store and buy impressive numbers. That and I don't have a car. Those aren't very good excuses for not having impressive numbers, but I don't see you eating Wolf Brand chili, so shut up.
I did, eventually go to bed, though I was a little shaken up.
Then today, after school, we got right back to work on the sink.
Eh, well, not quite really. See, DAD got right back to work on the sink, while I mostly just solved puzzles for the Genius Test in his Esquire magazine.
That and I let this huge roach out of the trash can. The day before, while I had been doing stuff just about as productive as what I just told you, Dad found this enormous roach in one of the drain pipes. He freaked out, and tried to kill it, then managed to get it into our garage trashcan which has a lid. I wasn't surprised though, because I knew all along the Mr Samsa would be back.
Also, to help with the sink, I pretended to clean my father with the toilet brush as he was leaning around under the sink. I figured he'd find this pretty disgusting if he knew I was doing it, but he didn't, and I wasn't worried--that is until a piece of fluff from the brush got on his back. My sister gave me an adamant look, one that you'd probably laugh at, because I had been doing something mischeivous. Then we both started blowing on the fluff ball in from opposite directions, trying to get it to float away. As you know, all things go away when blown on. But my Dad was oblivious to any of the preceding, all he knew was that suddenly his daughters were blowing frantically on his shirt, and he looked back at us, bewildered, as though we'd lost our minds.
I would cough up some reason for why this helped the process of fixing the sink, but I've decided that you'll believe me anyway, without any whitty rationalizations.
So after a lot of work, some bargaining, and numorous trips to Home Depot, we repaired the sink and Dad went to go relax in front of the tube. Unfortunately, all that was on was Attack of the Clones.
Hayden Christianson was saying something like, "I can fix things. I'm good at it."
"Then maybe you should get into a different business, buddy, I don't think you're gonna shape up to much of a Jedi," I commented disappointedly.
Dad said, "Yes, he should become one of the Plumbi."
Lame puns ensued, such as "May the Wrench be with you!" and "Use the Plunger, Luke!"
I think one of the better ones was, in a Yoda-voice, "The clog is strong in this one."
Even though that movie probably wasn't the best, though, I'm glad they didn't put plumbers in there. For one thing there'd me more cracks in it than, uh, in something that had more plumbers in it, I guess. I sat here for quite a while trying to think of something that might have more cracks, but seriously, what has more cracks than a movie with plumbers in it? You come up with something, I'm pretty bright and I can't.
I made 20 out of 35 questions on the Esquire Genius quiz and the average is 8. Whoohoo!
I'm too tired tothink about plumbing anymore though, so I'm gonna shove off.
Gut nacht, klein readers!
