Picture Sunday

Hello, end of weekenders.

I had a weekend at home planned. I was anticipating it a great deal. It's been the first weekend in, oh, say, 12 or so weeks I haven't been on the road in some form or other. I was going to watch my World War II movie ("The Longest Day"), chill, sleep late, have a few martinis, and take my sweet time on a recipe du jour. I was going to do some things that needed attention as well, things I'd been putting off.

Friday morning arrived. I hopped out of bed and got ready for work, knowing that I'd be spending a cold morning outside, because the first thing I had to do before going in to TheCompanyIWorkFor was to inspect a house. It's a thing we do there at TCIWF, and this was kind of an emergency for a nice lady who needed it done quickly. So it would be my first task of the day.

As I was brushing my teeth, I noticed that my bathroom sink drain, which is very slow and sickly about draining, was, well, not so much sickly as dead. I gave the sink the fish-eye, went off to finish getting ready, came back about fifteen minutes later, and it was still dead. No resurrection, the water was still standing in the sink, and I came face-to-face with the sad realization that I had myself, for the first time since living at the Poderosa, a stopped up line.

I poured some unclogging gunk into the sink and left on my task, which included not being able to find the house I was to inspect, and, after finding it, realizing that the office camera was broken. This is our second broken camera, and house inspections without a working camera are a no-go. I had to have all this ready for the nice lady that morning, so I went back home, picked up my own camera, looked at my sink, which was still clogged, went back to the nice lady's house, got my pictures, measurements, and everything else, and headed to the office.

When it was time for lunch, I headed home, but, smart girl that I am, I realized I don't own a plunger. I've never had the need for one. So I pilfered one from the building where our office is and toted it home with me. I plunged in lieu of lunch, but it didn't work. In fact, it made matters worse. I made a call to my plumber guy. Of course he didn't answer the phone, because I'm convinced he hangs upside down like a bat 23 hours of the day, but I left a message. He didn't call me back.

I spent Friday night not so much chilling as bailing water out of my sink, plunging again to no avail (this time with my brand new plunger), and deciding, "Fuck it, I'll watch my World War II movie." Of course, though, as you all know, or should, World War II makes me fall asleep (I've slept through some of the most volatile WWII battles on film), and so about 20 minutes into "The Longest Day," I was dozing away in the Comfy Chair.

I went to bed about 4:00 Saturday morning, and was awakened by a phone call at exactly 9 am. It was my plumber guy. He said he was on his way. He got there at 12:30.

I don't care, though, because he unstopped my sink and only charged me $25 to do so, so if he wants to hang upside down like a bat all damn day, he can have at it. Saturday was looking up.




















But before we go any further in this not-so-little tale, I reached a new milestone in those wee hours of Friday night/Saturday morning.




















Not only 3 million, but 4 million! This was over a few days, but I've now reached the point where I feel there's no stopping me and I'll never lose. I'm leaving the game up from now on to see just how far I get.

But back to Saturday looking up. I was going to get to those tasks that needed attention. The ones I'd been putting off.

The first was figure out, now that those bastards at Comcast have changed their website layout, how in the hell to update my movie list. (Yes, I have a movie list.) As you hucklebug listeners know, I've put the Comcast Bastards (CB) on the fuck-off list for two weeks in a row, and it's all because of this.

It used to be so easy. Go to the "personal web pages" site, browse for my movie list (yes, I have a movie list), select it, and hit the "upload" button. Bang-zoom, easy peasy, there was an updated movie list.

The first time I tried to do this under the new regime, well, I couldn't even find the "personal web pages" site. I looked and looked, and time was a-wastin' and it was almost podcast time, so I didn't pursue it. I just grumbled, and put the CB on my fuck-off list.

The next time I tried, I found the right site, but it didn't matter much. Everything had changed to the point where I was lost before I even got off the ground. I needed help, but all I could find was a five-minute video tour of making a web page, and though time wasn't a-wastin', I had no desire to sit and take a tutorial. So I grumbled some more, and decided I hated the Comcast Bastards (CB) and that surely they'd find their way to the fuck-off list once again.

And so I tried again. I found a help section, and it said, and I quote, "The process by which files are uploaded remains unchanged; however, the look and feel has." This, my beloved blogees, was a blatant lie. I mean, the look had changed, yes, and the feel had definitely changed, because I don't ever remember going to the neighbor's house and asking if they had any .22 cartridges before when uploading something to my website, but the thing about the process being the same was total bullshit. However, even knowing this I followed their instructions, uploaded my latest movie list, went to check it, and - it was just the same as it had been before, and I got nary a credit for the new movies I'd watched. Time was again a-wastin' this time around, and so I grumbled, and the CB made it to the famed and feared hucklebug fuck-off list a second time.

I was going to work on this Friday night, in the wee hours of Saturday morning, after I'd watched my World War II movie. Instead, I slept through my World War II movie, lost all interest in anything other than trying to reach 4 million in Text Twist and watching "The In-Laws" instead, a movie I've seen more times than I could ever count, but it never puts me to sleep.

But heady with knowing my sink drain was clear, I came straight to the computer yesterday afternoon and started messing around with the Comcast Bastards' (CB) new design. I uploaded. It said I was successful. I looked at my movie list. Not updated. I went back, chose a different file path. It was not successful. I went back and tried another. And another. And I'd keep going back to the path I knew was right, the one that gave me the big thumbs-up in having a successful upload, but my movie list wouldn't update. This went on for hours. I mean, I watched Wisconsin beat Michigan and was in the process of watching Virgina Tech beat Florida State, and it was the same thing over and over.

Comcast Bastards: Your upload was successful!
Me: No, it wasn't.
CB: Yes, it was successful!
Me: Then where's my damn updated movie list?
CB: You have a movie list?
Me: You know damn well I have a movie list. Why won't it update?
CB: Your upload was successful!

And on and on. I sent a couple of emails to my web maven Stennie, but she wasn't around. Finally, I figured it out. Those Comcast Bastards had, in changing their webpage layout, changed the urls for Comcast web pages. It would have been nice had the CB let me know this, either in the emails announcing their new design or in their help section. "The process by which files are uploaded remains unchanged; however, the look and feel - and your damn url, you loser - has." However, since that discovery, and changing the link over there to the left in Blogger, I've tried to upload other things, and the new url always comes back with an error.

You know, since the CB are now giving their people all this free web space, I'd considered a complete retooling (reupholstering, if you will) of The Comfy Chair. I'm not sure I'll bother now.

I left that task, finished watching Virginia Tech beat Florida State, and then headed to the bathroom. Yes, the game was exciting, but that's not what I mean. The second task I've been putting off is replacing the innards of my toilet. I'm sure there's a name for those things, the big tall thing with the knob at the top and the little trap door thingy with the chain on it, but it doesn't say that on the box. I can't remember what it said on the box, but in the interest of fair advertising it should have said, "Instrument of Torture."

I spared no expense when buying my innards, and bought the most expensive ones in the store. They had a 10 year guarantee, which I sincerely hoped was true, because I don't want to ever have to do this again. Because to install your new toilet innards, you must remove the old innards. And this, my friends, is a pain in the ass.

The directions told me to turn off my water and flush my toilet, which would drain it, and then, and again I quote, "Absorb the remaining tank water with a sponge." Now, I don't know what kind of by-God sucking sponges they have in Toiletland, but there was an inch of water left in the tank. Again I bailed, and bailed, and then finally got to the sponging stage. I removed the old innards, which were wet and slimy and cold and absolutely filthy. I can remember when we were in school and they always told us that when those Godless Communists dropped the bomb on us and we had to hole ourselves up in the basement, we could use the tank water in our toilets to drink. Well, I'd rather go outside in nuclear fallout and drink from the glowing stream. It couldn't be worse than the water in a toilet's tank.

I threw the old innards away, and began the task of installing the new. The trap door and chain thing was too small to fit on my overflow tube, and yes, I know you're impressed with my knowledge of plumbing vernacular. In trying to force it on, the chain broke. I would have taken it back to the store and pointed to the "10 year guarantee" written on the box, but I'd spent the last hour with my head and hands in the toilet, and, well, I had no fucking toilet! I wanted this over. Anyway, even a new box would have the same ill-fitting trap door, and so off I went to the trash to fish out the cold, wet, slimy, and filthy trap door and chain from the original. I re-replaced it. I flushed, and all was well.




















Until I came back to the bathroom to marvel at my handiwork and experience the flush of victory again. It was then I noticed there was water dripping steadily from underneath the tank. It was leaking between the tank and the lock nut, and yes, my plumbing vernacular is amazing. I wanted to cry but didn't, did some investigating and more tightening, and although I stopped the actual dripping, there was still water around the nut. The one on the tank and the one writing this.

So! Today, back to the hardware. I bought a new toilet innard set, and several other plumbing-related items, including a wrench bigger than the one I had. I'd decided I was going to fix this toilet if it killed me, which was a distinct possibility. I came home, drained the tank again, bailed again, sponged again, took everything out again, and put in a different brand of toilet innard set this time, which immediately endeared itself to me when I found that the trap door and chain had a variable ring which fit on my overflow tube, and now I'm just showing off my plumbing vernacular.

And even though the new brand didn't have a 10 year guarantee, it said instead it was the #1 brand amongst people stupid enough to fix their own toilets, as of the time of this writing it is flushing, holding water, not running, and, most important, not leaking.




















So that's how you spend two days and $40 and fix your toilet. I don't know why I didn't ask my plumber guy to do this yesterday morning, I guess because I am indeed stupid enough to fix my own toilet. He'd probably have done it for $25 and saved me a lot of heartache. However, it's kind of nice knowing I did it myself. I may not be able to figure out the Comcast Bastards' way of doing things, but I seem to getting OK in the sewage department.

And that's a hell of a long story. So how about a recipe du jour?

Earlier in the week, I was investigating my freezer. I don't really clean my freezer out that often. I don't keep much in it to clean. However, I have this sliding tray at the very bottom I seldom use, because it seems to always have other stuff in it. And I realized that that other stuff had to have been put down in that tray in my first one or two years here at the Poderosa. I started going through it, and there really wasn't that much stuff in it, it was just all in baggies which gave it more bulk. I did, however, find one item of note.

I don't know how long it had been a resident of my freezer, but I found a piece of steak that looked like it was from the Ice Age. I probably stuck it down in the tray one day, then just forgot about it. I unearthed it, looked at its decidedly grayish-brown color, and knew that before he got the heave-ho on Trash Night this poor soul would finally get his place on a plate in my home. And so, from the "For Carnivores Only" file at cardland, please give a long overdue welcome to The Steak That Time Forgot.























Bless his heart. He spent the best years of his sad life in the bottom of my freezer. Now he's old and gray. Really. I mean, he is literally old and gray. I decided to dress him up a little, and gave him some olive eyes, a fake gray mustache, and a dollop of mustard for a nose. Because, really, you're going to need some sort of condiment if you try to eat this tough old coot.

Happy week.

Betland's Olympic Upate:
* Flapper! The trap door is called a flapper! I just saw it on the box. You know, it doesn't really flap. I shall continue to use "trap door."