Today I was going to do a post about how Andy and I were going to see "The Hangover". It was going to be very funny. Okay, maybe it would have been only mildly amusing. However, the sever thunderstorms that hit Chicagoland had a different plan for me.
I had just gotten off the phone with my mom who had informed me there was no water coming into her floor. Awesome!
After all the money and time spent on repairing her place it was nice to hear. I felt pretty good about my day. OZ is still on vacation so I'd have no meeting and I'd be able to leave at 3 and pick up some tacos from the delicious El Famous Burrrrrrito on my way home. Just as I was about to hit publish on Andy's and mine debate on whether we should see "The Hangover" on Sunday (like we always do but he has some reservations because he does not want to watch a raunchy movie on God's day) or Friday evening (which I was against due to my fear of THE TEENAGERS) when I got the dreaded call.
Water was coming in.
I left work to help my mom with what I could. It wasn't like last year were our sump pump went out so loads of water just gushed in. The guys installed a new sump earlier this year and the old one is working great so we just had to focus on sweeping the water that was coming in from under the fuckin bathtub. It seems there is a big gaping hole that needs to be fixed. Guess what the next project is?
Do you guys know how absolutely depressing it is to keep going from one room to the next sweeping water into a hole and then coming back to find it EXACTLY AS BEFORE. Like if you hadn't even spent time sweating your ass off a few minutes ago and swearing at your shoes because they were wet and making your feet hurt.
Here I sit with a blister the size of mount fuckin everest on my hand from the non stop sweeping (of course my mom had to say that by now I should have calluses if only I cleaned my house more often but then I told her I was going to dunk her in the pit so she stopped the mocking) wondering why I was going to post about something so trivial as a movie.
The irony? Tomorrow I'm hosting a BBQ to show our appreciation to everybody who helped with the repairs. I just hope I have enough happy pills to keep me from collapsing because I am at the end of my rope right now. I also have no clue how I'm gonna be flipping the steaks since Blister is bitching at me every time I click the mouse. A reasonable person would let somebody else cook but I don't trust anybody near my grill.
Well, I'm off to make a voodoo doll of the asswipe who sold us our house and never mentioned the water issues. First I will shrink his ears, left leg and right nostril. Then I will let Tazz have at his crotch. May he rot in hell.
Oh yeah! Happy Father's Day to all you good dads out there!