TheMommyBlog

Thursday, December 17, 2009 Bad Mood Dude, Family

So. Christmas party tonight. Meeting Guy’s boss and co-workers for the first time. All I have to do is show up sober, look nice, and make small talk, am I right?

Well, there’s a bit of time to kill and a few things need doing around here before I go, so I get cracking.

First, the TV. Our TV is twelve years old, has three inches of dust on it, and weighs a metric ton. Also, it doesn’t work. As in, you get a one-in-five chance of it actually turning on, and even then you might get the picture shmushed down to a five-inch bar for an indeterminate amount of time. Annoying. It was decided last month that the family gift to our home from Guy and me would be a new TV. Cheap as all get-out, must have been mislabeled at Costco. We didn’t ask questions, we just grabbed it and drove off.

Here’s the catch: in order to use a new TV, you have to get rid of the old one. I know. Pissed me off.

I figure I can do this.

Turning that thing around on the turntable was like waltzing with a phone booth, but I had to disconnect everything so that it didn’t fly out of my arms when I tried to lift it out of the cabinet. How many freaking cables can be plugged into one goddamned TV? HOW MANY? After forty minutes I was reasonably sure that nothing was still connected—whether or not I’d destroyed any of the cables such that no TV could ever be used there again is yet to be determined. Satisfied with my work, I lifted the 32” behemoth off the tray.

Have you ever tried to give the Heimlich to Refrigerator Perry? No? How about moving a cow out from in front of your car by wrapping your arms around its middle? Or, better yet, carrying a mailbox ten feet in a room with only eight feet to maneuver. That’s kinda what it was like. I heaved once, staggered, and fell back onto the couch where the front-heavy screen smashed into my cheek bone.

I know one thing for sure: I do not want to show up at Guy’s company Christmas party to meet his boss for the first time, sporting a shiner.

Anyway. I don’t know how, but I got the TV back onto the floor and decided to wait for someone with a Y chromosome and advanced cable and TV expertise to wander by.

Time to get out of the heavy stuff and figure out what to wear. Simple. Red sweater, jeans, and look at that, I’d forgotten all about these…I think I’ll wear Great-Grandma’s diamond drop earrings. They definitely do not see the light of day more than once a decade.

They’re a little dingy.

Think I’ll clean them.

So I did.

And then rinsed them over the bathroom sink.

And dropped one into the drain. Fuck a duck and the flock he flew in with.

No problem, that’s what P-traps are for, right, people? I’ll just unscrew that puppy, pluck out Great-Grandma’s earring, and pop it back in.

Trouble was, I could only get one half of the P-trap to unscrew. Luckily, it swung out and I could reach inside. Nothing. I took apart the drain stopper assembly so I could look from the sink. Holy Mother of God you would not believe what was in that thing. Let’s just say I’m glad I was able to kill it and flush it before the kids got home. (Did I mention that we are going on Month Two of an inoperable toilet? It has a leak that won’t stop—I’ve tried five different flappers and had scads of advice but it won’t stop leaking, and my water bills are through the roof. So I turned off the water and made the kids use my bathroom all this time. Which they love.)

Now I couldn’t see what was down there. And I don’t own a flashlight, because I am too stupid to be a homeowner. But! I have a USB nightlight! I scrounged it up, plugged it into my netbook, booted it, and propped it against the wall behind the faucet so I could point the light down the drain. Which was blocked by the faucet. So I turned it to the side. Have to tighten that later. Once I could see, I realized that the trap was still full of water. Duh.

I’ll just drain it out with a turkey baster! Yeah! Where is that thing? Only two utensil drawers in the kitchen… has to be here somewhere… what kind of a mother doesn’t have a turkey baster handy?? ARGH!

Wait. I’ve siphoned gasoline out of a car’s tank before, right? All I need is a flexible tube. Bingo. One of the boys’ sports bottles has a long, bendy straw. Perfect. I carried that into the bathroom with a bowl, stuck the straw in, and gave the other end a little suck—just enough to get it flowing but not enough to actually have to taste anything. See? It pays to grow up in Chicago where you learn these important skills.

Water’s gone, I can see straight down, and now the only problem is that there is a blind spot right in the middle of the bend. Of fucking course there is.

So I finally gave in and started to unscrew one more piece of the pipe, toward the sink—which suddenly broke off into my hands. Whoops. But there was Grandma’s earring. Which was all that mattered, right?

I shoved that thing back in as best I could, reattached the P-trap, reassembled the drain thingy, turned on the water and tested it. HULL BREACH. That’s enough of that! Leakage! *squeak squeak* I turned off the water to the sink.

Poor little sink with the water turned off, next to the poor little toilet with the water turned off. Poor little me with just enough MacGyver in me to take things apart and jerry-rig a solution but not enough skill to put it all back together properly. Poor little sore and bleeding hands. Poor little strained wrists, to go with my strained neck and back. Poor Guy, who I hope will not have to endure funny looks if my cheek starts to bruise.

Now, if you’ll pardon me, I am going to retire to my bed for a wee nap. I was up for four hours in the night because my body thought it was still time to party in Thailand.

Three hours later: Oh, the irony. The mailman just brought me a water termination notice for nonpayment. I don’t fucking believe it.