Call in the Stunt C .....
Wherein I reveal how my body hates me, and the incriminating evidence of pasta sauce.
Sometimes, my body is almost nice to me. In general, when my monthly time of duress happens I get cramps. Awful painful cramps. But occasionally, like once or twice a year, I get a reprieve. I'm not sure if this is so much as my body being nice as more of a set-up, but either way it wasn't completely strange that when my period started on Saturday, no cramps came with it. How nice, I thought, I can enjoy the Spring Equinox and not be prostrate with pain..
I had a LOVELY Saturday - slept in, had my nails done, and went to JennXs crafting get-together, slept well. Sunday dawned beautiful, I went to brunch with Dr. P and all was well in the world - until about 1pm. I was rooting around my room looking for my jeans that I like to wear gardening. My plan was to spend a few hours working on stuff and hopefully getting the hunk of lavender sitting in my kitchen planted. Next thing I know, my heart has stopped in my chest, my vision literally greys out, and I fall to the floor with a whimper as a TIDAL WAVE of pain hits my internal parts. A massive cramp sprung out of nowhere to engulf my life.
I'm not really sure how long I laid on the floor - but eventually I roused and crawled to the bathroom to swallow some pills. Which was basically as effective as throwing a dixie cup of water at a forest fire. This pain wasn't in the mood to go away. I was actually really frightened (I'm still pretty frightened) by the intensity of the pain and the way it affected me. I was panting for air, my vision was in grayscale, and for long periods my ability to reason/think was gone. At some point late in the evening, THE CRAMP, eased down into normal levels, which while still really painful - was survivable. Exhausted and still shaky and in pain, I called in sick to work and spent most of the day on the couch full of pills with cats draped as heating pads on my mid-section. This is proof positive that not only does my body hate me - but now it is tricking me. It's always been either I get cramps or I don't - none of this delayed 24 hours shit. I really wish menopause would hurry up and get here!
A few weeks ago, I came home from class to find a note, not addressed to me, saying that management needed to be called before using the water. Ok. I call manager guy and say "hi, this is Catta from 102. There's a note on my door to NotCatta about using the water...". Without a greeting or a pause, manager guy launches into a story about how a backed up drain overflowed in an empty apartment causing lots of damage. That's nice, and this is important to me because? Manager guy explains that the drains of my and 5 other apartments are connected and that the problem had been determined as my fault. WHOA nellie - my fault? I'm never home, and rarely cook and when I do, nothing goes down the garbage disposal. In fact, during this whole conversation, I'm in my kitchen looking at my sink, which is bone dry and full of dirty dishes. Manager guy's wife (bitter beer face) gets on the phone and starts shouting that I had a jar of pasta sauce in my kitchen and that the overflow was pasta sauce and noodles and that she had pulled hands full of noodles out of my drain and yadda yadda yadda. I'm pretty pissed by this time and loose my cool and start right back, about how I don't use my disposal, my pasta sauce was for gnocchi, that since all my dishes were dirty still, there wasn't any way any of my pasta sauce and.... as I was about to demand proof -such as pictures or a signed statement by the plumber who apparently determined that I was at fault.... the line went dead.
Two days later, bitter beer face knocks on my door around 9am. This is pretty early for me and I happened to be sound asleep. I open the door and she shoves a box in my hands saying that the damage is coming out of my deposit and walks away. Me being half asleep, I drop the box on the floor and went back to seep. Later, when awake, I look at the box which is a mail item addressed to NotCatta of Apt. 104. Worried that BBF was trying to set me up for the federal crime of tampering with mail, I quickly took the box out to the mailboxes and left it. Yeah, maybe I wasn't quite awake yet ... but still, I've been here for over two years. They know my name, have called me by my name, I sign my rent checks every month with my name and not the least, the door BBF was knocking on quite clearly in big shinny numbers says 102. So WTF?
So, the point now being is that my drain is backed up and I can't do dishes. I really really don't want to call manager guy. The drain worked just fine last weekend - I haven't used the sink at all during the week - and now it won't drain. I even took apart all the plumbing under the sink, but to no avail. It is something past the wall. Not only do I not want to talk to him because of the whole pasta sauce thing (for which I absolutely know I had nothing to do with - I do not put pasta down the drain), but because I am probably somewhat culpable for this blockage. About a month and a half ago, my drain had clogged due to grease (so I was told), which I found interesting as I don't cook meat at home or use much oil and certainly don't pour it down the drain - but whatever. Manager guy said I should put some lemons down the disposal occasionally to wipe out everyday grease so it won't clog up in the future. Yeah so, I maybe went a bit overboard on that and instead of one or two lemons down the disposal I put about 20. So the backed up water is sprinkled with lemon bits. This was over a month ago ... but Mea culpa.
So now it's Tuesday, I'm still crampy and my dishes are still dirty. I really really don't want to deal with this. I wish I had a stunt double that I could send in to deal with this.
Sometimes, my body is almost nice to me. In general, when my monthly time of duress happens I get cramps. Awful painful cramps. But occasionally, like once or twice a year, I get a reprieve. I'm not sure if this is so much as my body being nice as more of a set-up, but either way it wasn't completely strange that when my period started on Saturday, no cramps came with it. How nice, I thought, I can enjoy the Spring Equinox and not be prostrate with pain..
I had a LOVELY Saturday - slept in, had my nails done, and went to JennXs crafting get-together, slept well. Sunday dawned beautiful, I went to brunch with Dr. P and all was well in the world - until about 1pm. I was rooting around my room looking for my jeans that I like to wear gardening. My plan was to spend a few hours working on stuff and hopefully getting the hunk of lavender sitting in my kitchen planted. Next thing I know, my heart has stopped in my chest, my vision literally greys out, and I fall to the floor with a whimper as a TIDAL WAVE of pain hits my internal parts. A massive cramp sprung out of nowhere to engulf my life.
I'm not really sure how long I laid on the floor - but eventually I roused and crawled to the bathroom to swallow some pills. Which was basically as effective as throwing a dixie cup of water at a forest fire. This pain wasn't in the mood to go away. I was actually really frightened (I'm still pretty frightened) by the intensity of the pain and the way it affected me. I was panting for air, my vision was in grayscale, and for long periods my ability to reason/think was gone. At some point late in the evening, THE CRAMP, eased down into normal levels, which while still really painful - was survivable. Exhausted and still shaky and in pain, I called in sick to work and spent most of the day on the couch full of pills with cats draped as heating pads on my mid-section. This is proof positive that not only does my body hate me - but now it is tricking me. It's always been either I get cramps or I don't - none of this delayed 24 hours shit. I really wish menopause would hurry up and get here!
A few weeks ago, I came home from class to find a note, not addressed to me, saying that management needed to be called before using the water. Ok. I call manager guy and say "hi, this is Catta from 102. There's a note on my door to NotCatta about using the water...". Without a greeting or a pause, manager guy launches into a story about how a backed up drain overflowed in an empty apartment causing lots of damage. That's nice, and this is important to me because? Manager guy explains that the drains of my and 5 other apartments are connected and that the problem had been determined as my fault. WHOA nellie - my fault? I'm never home, and rarely cook and when I do, nothing goes down the garbage disposal. In fact, during this whole conversation, I'm in my kitchen looking at my sink, which is bone dry and full of dirty dishes. Manager guy's wife (bitter beer face) gets on the phone and starts shouting that I had a jar of pasta sauce in my kitchen and that the overflow was pasta sauce and noodles and that she had pulled hands full of noodles out of my drain and yadda yadda yadda. I'm pretty pissed by this time and loose my cool and start right back, about how I don't use my disposal, my pasta sauce was for gnocchi, that since all my dishes were dirty still, there wasn't any way any of my pasta sauce and.... as I was about to demand proof -such as pictures or a signed statement by the plumber who apparently determined that I was at fault.... the line went dead.
Two days later, bitter beer face knocks on my door around 9am. This is pretty early for me and I happened to be sound asleep. I open the door and she shoves a box in my hands saying that the damage is coming out of my deposit and walks away. Me being half asleep, I drop the box on the floor and went back to seep. Later, when awake, I look at the box which is a mail item addressed to NotCatta of Apt. 104. Worried that BBF was trying to set me up for the federal crime of tampering with mail, I quickly took the box out to the mailboxes and left it. Yeah, maybe I wasn't quite awake yet ... but still, I've been here for over two years. They know my name, have called me by my name, I sign my rent checks every month with my name and not the least, the door BBF was knocking on quite clearly in big shinny numbers says 102. So WTF?
So, the point now being is that my drain is backed up and I can't do dishes. I really really don't want to call manager guy. The drain worked just fine last weekend - I haven't used the sink at all during the week - and now it won't drain. I even took apart all the plumbing under the sink, but to no avail. It is something past the wall. Not only do I not want to talk to him because of the whole pasta sauce thing (for which I absolutely know I had nothing to do with - I do not put pasta down the drain), but because I am probably somewhat culpable for this blockage. About a month and a half ago, my drain had clogged due to grease (so I was told), which I found interesting as I don't cook meat at home or use much oil and certainly don't pour it down the drain - but whatever. Manager guy said I should put some lemons down the disposal occasionally to wipe out everyday grease so it won't clog up in the future. Yeah so, I maybe went a bit overboard on that and instead of one or two lemons down the disposal I put about 20. So the backed up water is sprinkled with lemon bits. This was over a month ago ... but Mea culpa.
So now it's Tuesday, I'm still crampy and my dishes are still dirty. I really really don't want to deal with this. I wish I had a stunt double that I could send in to deal with this.