So, Reader, in case you were wondering what someone like me, grumpy and snappish and gnarl-hearted, longs for at this time of year, here's your answer: All I want for Xmas is a working toilet. IN my place.
I made the mistake of telling my landlord that my hot water faucet - in the kitchen - dripped. And somehow this translated to spending the last six weeks enduring an unanticipated bathroom remodel. Right now my toilet is non-operational and living two rooms away from its rightful home. Luckily I have access to other facilities, but let's face it: OTHER facilities cannot hold a candle to YOUR OWN facilities.
The one bright spot in the whole process has been that my contractor has been completely and inadvertently entertaining. He's a little rocker kid (it's kind of like having a Stroke grouting your tile) - and when I say little, I mean teeny tiny. I think he wears like size two girl jeans. I KNOW he wears girl jeans because he told me all about it, I just forgot to ask him what size.
He's told me all about MANY things. I know about his girl trouble, his upbringing (he was home schooled by fundamentalist Christian parents), his mild drug use, his transportation issues, his roommate situation.
Now, as everyone is well aware, I don't take kindly, generally, to unsolicited personal disclosure. UNLESS, as the Championship Powerlifter demonstrated, you manage to entertain me. Which my Rocker Contractor seems to unintentionally do every time he shows up.
Below are some of my favorite things that he has said thus far. I told him that entering Week Six I am losing my mind without a fully operational bathroom and I am sick of brushing my teeth in the kitchen sink so HE MUST FINISH UP AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE BEFORE XMAS. He was sympathetic and responded by not showing up for two days this week. So I think this will continue into the New Year. If so, expect to see some more of these entries. In fact, I am thinking of filming him. He just comes out with too many gems; they should be documented:
- Well, I'm going to go home and curl my hair.
- (To his dog who was licking his face. Oh, yes, his dog that he brings INTO my house. Without asking.) Don't put your tongue in my mouth, that's bad for a boy doggie. (I could not restrain myself from asking him, to clarify, if in fact I had heard correctly and it was the fact of it being a BOY doggie tongue as opposed to just being DOGGIE tongue that was the problem.)
- "In the midnight hour/She cried 'More more more.'" (Yes, that's from "Rebel Yell" a song he was singing at some rock charity event. Which is fine, except those were the ONLY TWO LINES of the song he would absently sing to himself for DAYS on end. I BEGGED him to sing other parts of the song or an entirely different song, but without thinking he would inevitably return to just those two lines.)
- There's nothing this town likes better than a longhair in a VW bus.
- I think the air quality in my apartment is affecting my vocal cords. (Said whilst smoking, and being covered with a little dusting of the mud he was sanding off the walls. "Do you need some sort of mask?" I had asked as I watched from my desk the dust falling right into his open mouth. "Nah," he had replied.)
- I threw my hair straightener across the room the other day.
Good, as they say, Times! Happy Holidays all! Enjoy your operational toilets!
