Drains and More

Before I begin complaining – and baby, I got some ‘plainin to do – I want to briefly review the Die Antwoord concert I attended on Monday night.

IT FUCKING ROCKED AND WOULD TOTALLY BE THE BEST CONCERT I HAD EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE if I hadn’t gone to see the Pogues, the Violent Femmes & Mojo Nixon & Skid Roper on the pier in NYC in 1990. Z TO THE E TO THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ F!!!!!

That is all. Except pictures are here.

And now, on to the complaining! So I went out on Monday night and then again on Tuesday night because I am in my early twenties and what the hell, you know, I might as well burn the candle – yeah, okay, I was about dead on Wednesday – but all good, except I came home to discover that there was a nice puddle of water in front of the kitchen sink. My daughter, lying on the couch, said “Oh well I thought Miles spilled something.” Good try at the blame shifting! But you see, if I am in my early twenties than she is only like five, so what does one expect? I opened up the cabinet under the sink to discover that it was, basically, underwater and if the cabinet door had been made of glass it would have looked a lot like the Baltimore aquarium R’lyeh display. I keep cleaning stuff under there, of course, fortunately in a couple of dishpans. The dishpan under the left side of the sink was brim full with water and floating cleaning supplies which did not for the most part mix well with scummy water: goodbye, bartender’s friend, box of anti static duster thingies and some unidentifiable other objects. Yeah. So I cleaned that up, which is what I just love to do at 1:30 am and then on Wednesday I made a couple futile stabs at fixing it, by which I mean I watched some Youtube videos and became depressed and went back to bed.

Actually, it doesn’t look like too difficult a fix, particularly if you have the whole sink upside down on a nice clean work surface and the right tools, just like the calm and unshakable guys on Youtube. If, however, the sink is right side up and you are upside down under it with water and scum dripping on you trying to fix things with, uh, your hands and a small pair of needle nose pliers, it is surprisingly unsimple! I put a note in there that says DO NOT USE and that is where I have left it. I get paid next Thursday and maybe I can get somebody to fix it then. Or just never use it again, which is a big pain in the ass – I have already poured most of a large stockpot of water all over the floor this morning. And this would be a drag, yes, but surmountable if it didn’t follow suspiciously closely on two extremely recent stopped up toilet happenings and if I hadn’t seen the water from the right hand side of the sink this morning well right back up in the left hand side, which leads me to suspect that we might be facing something much worse, much much worse: a real drain issue. In which case I’m completely, but completely, fucked and that is all she wrote.

And as if that were not enough, the fucking iMac is dead and I am typing this on my beloved old Windows 98 desktop, the one an ex built for me in 2004 and another ex rebuilt in 2010, the unkillable machine, old reliable itself. I had been slowly teaching myself how to use the Mac since my brother gave it to me last December and I had put most of my pictures on it and felt like I was finally getting the hang of that whole bassackwards OS – not to mention playing a shit ton of Minecraft which it does do better than this computer – when blammo, it will not start up at all. There was some kind of almighty power surge last night apparently and while here I am, typing away on my antique windows machine, the supposedly reliable Mac won’t even get further than 1/3 of the way along its power starting up line before emphatically dying. And this is the second time it’s crashed horribly in the six months I have owned it. Fuck that and the horse it rode in on, frankly but oh I will miss that big monitor something fierce. And Minecraft.

So, two sucky things – and now I am waiting for the third shoe to drop. Great! There is nothing like a feeling of creeping dread and horrid anticipation to take you into the weekend – particularly one of my weekends which are heavy on the work continuously and light on the “weekend” part. And off we go.

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