The most fascinating update EVAR--I has new plumbing
Took a vacation day today to deal with the evil plumbing in my kitchen and other disasters around my condo. A brief history.
In January, I learned that the radiator in my sun room had been leaking badly for I don't know how long. It ruined my floor in there and was beginning to ruin my neighbor's ceiling. I had it fixed, and the insurance is paying to have that floor fixed and all contiguous floors refinished. This means sun room, living room, dining room, and hallway. Not bedroom, because of the door, and not kitchen, as it's a separate piece of flooring. However, because of the busted/flooding dishwasher, the kitchen floor is ruined, and I'm paying the floor guys to refinish in there.
So. Best to get the dishwasher fixed before then, yeah? Yeah. That's what I thought. So a couple of weeks ago, I had the dishwasher guy in, and he determined that the flooding wasn't my dishwasher's fault (it still doesn't wash my dishes, but that's one of another possible two problems), but rather is due to the schlocky plumbing under my sink. So. Called a plumber.
Plumber (omg, so cute and really nicely shaped and such good manners, and wearing really cute undies that showed every time he crawled in and out of under-my-sink) came in and agreed that, yes, under-my-sink is screwed. Strapped the slanty pipe so it's straight, undid much of the mess last year's (not as cute) plumber made, snaked everything out just for giggles, and dinked with the dishwasher for a bit before admitting that, Dammit, Jim, he's a plumber, not an appliance guy, and I should talk to the appliance guy again about the dishwasher.
But, happy news! The flooding should be done! My sink works again! I can wash dishes (bleh, I have to wash dishes) in my sink again.
It is now 9:30ish, and I have all day to putter around my apartment and just deal with my life. I have to move out of here in just about ten days (and in with Marc for a week--here are my relationship issues, let me show you them in another post sometime), and so I need to get my ass in gear and try to get this place under control. To that end, I hereby declare a list:
* Take out trash and all recycling. Was done before 8 a.m., thank you very much.
* Wash dishes. All of them, you bum.
* Pick up living room and throw out/recycle/put away all stuff lying around on the various flat surfaces. This really, really includes CDs and books.
* Pick up dining room and throw out/recycle/put away all stuff lying around on the various flat surfaces.
* Put away all laundry. Dude. That was marathon. And satisfying.
* ETA Deal with your freakish issue about never throwing away underwear. In fact, go through underwear drawer and sort it into stacks:
--- "old/horrid--throw out"
--- "new or nearly new and clean and totally doesn't fit you for whatever reason--give away"
--- (Note to self: Stop buying boy shorts; they only ever ride up your ass and you can get that effect from a thong with much less fabric)
--- "fandom pants you can't part with"
--- "in good shape and fit" and "ugly as hell but still really comfy"
* Organize remaining laundry for future washing.
* That laundry that's been in the bottom half of the hamper for nearly a year? Probably time to give it away, since you haven't worn it in a year. Oh, my God, you people. Remember when my cats were peeing all over the place? I have six bags of dirty bedding left over from that whole thing. Plus, like four bags of other laundry.
* Call moving guys and confirm that they're packing for you as well as moving all your crap out.
* Think about what stuff you don't want them to move back in (exermajiggy, I'm looking at you, and I'm thinking about my storage compartment and how if you move down there, I could move the extra table into the sun room and keep the sewing machine there and actually, like, use that room again).
* SWEEP! Dear God, sweep all your floors!
* Clean the bathroom, with special attention paid to mopping the floor because eew.
* Go to the grocery store. Buy TP, milk, frozen veggies, fruit, cereal, and stuff with which to emmulate the salads you keep paying almost $7 for nearly every lunch time. It's not hard. Lettuce/spinach, cranberries, pistachios, blue cheese, pears, dressing. See? Easy. Except the salad stuff. Went to the grocery next to the bike shop, and it's expensive there, so didn't buy the salad stuff.
* Scrape dried-up powdered detergent out of dishwasher and give it one more chance to run through a full cycle, just for kicks.
* Call dishwasher guy to let him know findings.
* ETATake bike to bike shop for tune up so you can actually ride it this summer. Marc's is only six miles away, and if you find a not-terrifying street to ride on, you can totally do that. City of No Hills FTW!
Oh. And this morning I was woken just after six by some moron from the construction site across the street, who had driven his truck straight into the IDOT box that controls the traffic signals on my corner. Huge box--probably six by three by four feet--and this guy somehow made a ridculously wide right turn and drove almost all the way over the thing. And then backed up and went to work. WTF, people? Am now official witness for police. Not a very good one, though, as I didn't see him actually do it and didn't have my glasses on so couldn't describe the guy. But I saw the name on the truck and saw him pull in next door, and my neighbors got his plates.
Right. I have declared a list. I should get on that.
Oh. Movies. I saw Prince Caspian and loved it and would like to point out to every single reviewer who's mentioned Caspian's "pan-European" accent that his and all the Telmarine's accent is Castillian, because they are the descendents of Spanish pirates. Also saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls and adored it for all its Indy-awesome. Plot? What plot? Who cares if the plot made nearly no sense? Did you not notice INDY and how he is made entirely of awesome? Manalive, I love that guy. And am disturbingly at peace with my growing Oedipal issues--the older Harrison Ford gets, the more he looks and sounds like my dearly departed father. I promise it's not dirty, but I love him more for being my super-hero dad, while still lusting after him for being Indy.
Wow. Bet y'all're sorry you looked in this direction.
Oh. Last thing. No, in fact I have NOT written a single word in more than a month. And yes, I have three WsIP going. And no, I'm not inspired by a single one of them. Fucker. I've lost my fandom/fannish mojo.
In January, I learned that the radiator in my sun room had been leaking badly for I don't know how long. It ruined my floor in there and was beginning to ruin my neighbor's ceiling. I had it fixed, and the insurance is paying to have that floor fixed and all contiguous floors refinished. This means sun room, living room, dining room, and hallway. Not bedroom, because of the door, and not kitchen, as it's a separate piece of flooring. However, because of the busted/flooding dishwasher, the kitchen floor is ruined, and I'm paying the floor guys to refinish in there.
So. Best to get the dishwasher fixed before then, yeah? Yeah. That's what I thought. So a couple of weeks ago, I had the dishwasher guy in, and he determined that the flooding wasn't my dishwasher's fault (it still doesn't wash my dishes, but that's one of another possible two problems), but rather is due to the schlocky plumbing under my sink. So. Called a plumber.
Plumber (omg, so cute and really nicely shaped and such good manners, and wearing really cute undies that showed every time he crawled in and out of under-my-sink) came in and agreed that, yes, under-my-sink is screwed. Strapped the slanty pipe so it's straight, undid much of the mess last year's (not as cute) plumber made, snaked everything out just for giggles, and dinked with the dishwasher for a bit before admitting that, Dammit, Jim, he's a plumber, not an appliance guy, and I should talk to the appliance guy again about the dishwasher.
But, happy news! The flooding should be done! My sink works again! I can wash dishes (bleh, I have to wash dishes) in my sink again.
It is now 9:30ish, and I have all day to putter around my apartment and just deal with my life. I have to move out of here in just about ten days (and in with Marc for a week--here are my relationship issues, let me show you them in another post sometime), and so I need to get my ass in gear and try to get this place under control. To that end, I hereby declare a list:
* Take out trash and all recycling. Was done before 8 a.m., thank you very much.
* Wash dishes. All of them, you bum.
* Pick up living room and throw out/recycle/put away all stuff lying around on the various flat surfaces. This really, really includes CDs and books.
* Pick up dining room and throw out/recycle/put away all stuff lying around on the various flat surfaces.
* Put away all laundry. Dude. That was marathon. And satisfying.
* ETA Deal with your freakish issue about never throwing away underwear. In fact, go through underwear drawer and sort it into stacks:
--- "old/horrid--throw out"
--- "new or nearly new and clean and totally doesn't fit you for whatever reason--give away"
--- (Note to self: Stop buying boy shorts; they only ever ride up your ass and you can get that effect from a thong with much less fabric)
--- "fandom pants you can't part with"
--- "in good shape and fit" and "ugly as hell but still really comfy"
* Organize remaining laundry for future washing.
* That laundry that's been in the bottom half of the hamper for nearly a year? Probably time to give it away, since you haven't worn it in a year. Oh, my God, you people. Remember when my cats were peeing all over the place? I have six bags of dirty bedding left over from that whole thing. Plus, like four bags of other laundry.
* Call moving guys and confirm that they're packing for you as well as moving all your crap out.
* Think about what stuff you don't want them to move back in (exermajiggy, I'm looking at you, and I'm thinking about my storage compartment and how if you move down there, I could move the extra table into the sun room and keep the sewing machine there and actually, like, use that room again).
* SWEEP! Dear God, sweep all your floors!
* Clean the bathroom, with special attention paid to mopping the floor because eew.
* Go to the grocery store. Buy TP, milk, frozen veggies, fruit, cereal, and stuff with which to emmulate the salads you keep paying almost $7 for nearly every lunch time. It's not hard. Lettuce/spinach, cranberries, pistachios, blue cheese, pears, dressing. See? Easy. Except the salad stuff. Went to the grocery next to the bike shop, and it's expensive there, so didn't buy the salad stuff.
* Scrape dried-up powdered detergent out of dishwasher and give it one more chance to run through a full cycle, just for kicks.
* Call dishwasher guy to let him know findings.
* ETATake bike to bike shop for tune up so you can actually ride it this summer. Marc's is only six miles away, and if you find a not-terrifying street to ride on, you can totally do that. City of No Hills FTW!
Oh. And this morning I was woken just after six by some moron from the construction site across the street, who had driven his truck straight into the IDOT box that controls the traffic signals on my corner. Huge box--probably six by three by four feet--and this guy somehow made a ridculously wide right turn and drove almost all the way over the thing. And then backed up and went to work. WTF, people? Am now official witness for police. Not a very good one, though, as I didn't see him actually do it and didn't have my glasses on so couldn't describe the guy. But I saw the name on the truck and saw him pull in next door, and my neighbors got his plates.
Right. I have declared a list. I should get on that.
Oh. Movies. I saw Prince Caspian and loved it and would like to point out to every single reviewer who's mentioned Caspian's "pan-European" accent that his and all the Telmarine's accent is Castillian, because they are the descendents of Spanish pirates. Also saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls and adored it for all its Indy-awesome. Plot? What plot? Who cares if the plot made nearly no sense? Did you not notice INDY and how he is made entirely of awesome? Manalive, I love that guy. And am disturbingly at peace with my growing Oedipal issues--the older Harrison Ford gets, the more he looks and sounds like my dearly departed father. I promise it's not dirty, but I love him more for being my super-hero dad, while still lusting after him for being Indy.
Wow. Bet y'all're sorry you looked in this direction.
Oh. Last thing. No, in fact I have NOT written a single word in more than a month. And yes, I have three WsIP going. And no, I'm not inspired by a single one of them. Fucker. I've lost my fandom/fannish mojo.