Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Day 31, Monday- Caucasian Refuse

With just two days left, I only have 30 feet of floor tile to set and one little boy’s room to paint. I might just make it. After days like this, however, I'm not so sure.

After a half-day at the office, I resumed work on the "Bathroom of Perpetual Disrepair". I finished the tile for the bathtub surround, washed my hands and had a late lunch consisting of a delicious piece of leftover pizza from the night before. It tasted a bit off, but I assumed that was just “fridge taste.”

I went back to work and pulled the tile spacers from the wall. I decided to get started on the floor, so I removed the (only) toilet out to give me more workspace as well as let me take care of some additional rot. I was about to get to work on the subfloor, cutting out the rotten boards when there was a rumbling in my stomach.

A bad rumble. A “get to the toilet now” rumble.

In a panic, I dashed for the toilet and slammed it back in place. Sweating, I “assumed the position” and… passed gas.

I was a bit sheepish, sitting there, reflecting on the panic that had struck only a few minutes before. My eyes were watering a bit, so I left the room (with the window open) and allowed the atmosphere to cycle in the room. For the record, had this happened in New York, CNN would still be reporting on it with special team coverage on the “chemical attack.”

I figured it was a good time to let the old stomach settle, so I decided to start spreading paint in the boy’s room. I was running low on the ceiling paint from the Evil Empire (fortified with Unicorn horn!) The fact that the lid wasn’t put on tight last night did not help. So, I mixed it with the $2 can of paint I got at the “Big box store that is not City Lumber and yes I feel dirty for having gone there” and came up with a new shade that I will call….

“What have I done to my son’s room purple?”

This is My Little Pony purple. I tried to lie to myself and pretend that it is something manly like “Battleship Gray” or perhaps “Gunmetal.” No matter how macho the name, the paint stayed purple. It clashed with the sky blue walls in a way that no other shade could.

There is a bright side. I ran out of this monstrosity. Now I can go buy real paint and try again. At least it covered the ceiling of perpetual doom.

I returned to the bathroom and pulled the toilet again. I started laying floor tile when the bad rumble returned.

Oh, shit. Literally.

Figuring it was just gas, I decided to carefully let fly. Bad move. Using my cat-like reflexes, I stopped the explosion with my “butt checks o’ steel.

I was suddenly faced with a rather uncomfortable situation. I really could not go to the neighbor’s house- I’ve only just met them and explosive, foul-smelling, bad-pizza diarrhea is not a good way to make friends.

I considered other options- the bushes out back (too many blackberries), driving home (not gonna make it), and even the kitchen sink (EWWWWWW!)

As such, I chose the only practical option. I reinstalled the toilet, whilst tightly clenched. For the record, walking like a penguin is not conducive to working on plumbing. With the bowl back in place, I finally found relief.

Too bad I forgot to hook the water back up first. I realized this “just a little too late.” There was no way I was messing around under the toilet now- I needed to get water in this thing now.

I found my salvation in a garden hose. I was happily standing in the bathroom holding a garden hose in the toilet tank thinking about how clever I was.

Then it hit me- I am such a freak. Normal people don't have this kind of stuff happen to them, and if they do, they sure as hell don't post it on the Internet.

Yeah. Well, I've never been considered normal, and I am rather pround of that. I think normal people watch too much TV and try too hard to be "safe." I think normal people should try new things, even if some of those things don't work out.

I think normal people should all work together to make normal a little more exciting. Then I'll try and be normal.

Oops, sorry about that. Back to the post.....

So, in closing, if you’ve ever facilitated the flushing of a toilet with a garden hose, you might just be white trash. I, however, prefer to be called Caucasian Refuse.

Total costs: $2,368

6 Comments:

At 1:10 AM, Blogger Tom said...

Yeah- toilet humor. I know. I'm sorry...

 
At 1:15 AM, Blogger Oregon Coast said...

I married you. That could hardly be considered "normal."

 
At 6:35 AM, Anonymous abbienormal said...

I will file this under the heading "Stories that would have scared the shit out of me if coming from anyone BUT Tom."

Still, ewww.

 
At 5:18 PM, Blogger Miss Sassy said...

Classic.
I was waiting for you to have to call Bobert and run from the fumes at the same time - then have him tell you its the skunked air that kept your paint from sticking to the ceiling.

But picturing you're neighbor's face as you run the hose into the bathroom, having no idea what the dancing tree sloth might be up to, is a good way to go too...

 
At 11:16 AM, Blogger Jamie said...

OMG! I love this. I need to go back and read all your archives now. Please continue to post!

-Jamie

 
At 8:51 PM, Blogger Oregon Coast said...

Gives a whole new meaning to "potty mouth."

 

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