The Proverbial Straw

Hello, blogees.

It's been a bit of a downer week here in Betland, that all came to a head today.

I can't remember if I've mentioned it here before, but I'm having some Poderosa problems. One of the several hairline cracks in my living room ceiling has had some seepage through it, and it's been kind of freaking me out.

And the thing is, the fact that I'm probably going to have to have roof work done, if not a whole new roof, is only a small portion of the freakout. The large portion is that I can't get anyone to come out and look at it to tell me what's wrong.

Upon the first discovery, I called Ricky Ricardo, who took care of the Shower Wall Debacle a few years ago. I trust him with anything around the house, but when I told him what was going on, he said it sounded like a roof problem and that's just something he doesn't do. But! He knew someone who did, someone he worked with, and he'd tell that guy the problem and have him call me.

I never heard from him.

And of course, I was hinky about living under a shaky roof, especially since it's been raining here almost every day, and so I called someone else my dad knows and has had do some things for him . I dialed up, got his wife, explained who I was (it never hurts that they know my dad), what was wrong, and gave about four phone numbers where I could be reached. He was supposed to call me when he got in that day at five.

He never did.

This past Friday I was gearing up for a very busy Saturday. I had to get Milo in to the vet's office for his yearly shots, I had Paw Duty, taking him around all the stores he needed to go to, then Mr M was coming down that evening and I needed to make a pot of chili for dinner. Then some time Friday afternoon I got a phone call. It was Ricky Ricardo's guy. He said he could come over at noon on Saturday and look at the Poderosa, and well, I just had to fit him in, right? It might be the only chance I'd get. I said come on over.

The vet's went well, Dr Steve loves Milo, and laughed at him and talked about his personality and his great teeth. He got shots and flea stuff and heartworm stuff and I left broke but smiling. I hurried back home in case Ricky Ricardo's guy might show up early.

He didn't.

In fact, he didn't show up at all. That I know of. Finally at 1:15 I'd had enough, said, "Fuck it, I'm not going to sit around and wait all day for him to decide he's bored enough to come over," and I left to get Paw and finish the rest of the day. And I'm still miffed over it. Don't make an appointment if you're not coming. At least without a call.

And so my ceiling was still as it was and I had no idea what kind of a roof I was living under, and then last night came along. Another incredibly hard rain. I was sitting in the Comfy Chair with Milo and he was chewing one of his toys, and I started noticing an odd sound. An odd sound that didn't sound like chewing.

I turned off all the sound in the room and realized that yes, it was what I had feared. It was definitely a dripping noise. I got up to investigate, and here is what I found. And you can believe this or not, but I was there and saw it, so I can tell you it's the God's honest truth.

Water was dripping down my window blinds. Dripping onto one of my end tables and back behind it into the floor. It was coming down the actual blinds and was also traveling in beads down the cord that lifts and lowers them.

And as always I said, "Oh, shit," only louder and with a bit more panic, and got a step-ladder and started investigating the water. And here's the thing. This water was dripping down my window blinds because it was coming from my window blinds. It was coming right out of the hole where the cord is that lifts the blinds.

I couldn't get the blinds out of their slats, so I lifted them all the way and looked behind them. The window seemed to be dry, as was the window pane and wall above it, and the roof. I lowered the top part of the window down, then put it back up, made sure it was tight as it would go, and locked it. I got towels for the floor and table, and a small towel to poke in the hole in the window blinds.

And I started drinking, because really, that was about all else I could do.

That seemed to do the trick, the small towel shoved in the hole wasn't sopping wet this morning, and my dad, love his heart, called his guy this morning himself. He has that voice. I waited to see if either of us would get a call back.

I came home for lunch today, took Milo out in the hard, pelting, neverending rain, came in, checked my window, kept good thoughts, and it didn't seem to be dripping. I came here and fooled with some video technical computer stuff that was making me want to tear my hair out, and finally found a solution.

However, by the time I found that solution I had about 7 minutes to fix my lunch, get it packed to go back to work, and take Milo out one more time. I was rushing around like crazy, and got my beautiful deli turkey and provelone on rye all fixed (I treated myself with a little Thousand Island dressing on it), and went to get some aluminum foil. I had only a small strip left on the roll. I went ahead and wrapped my sandwich, but the foil didn't go all the way round it. I devised plans to carry it so it wouldn't get wet in the rain.

I pulled into the parking lot on two wheels, five minutes late, and started gathering a mass of crap to carry into work. Bag, umbrella, little canvas carry for water and ice, small bag of chips, small container holding pickles, and my beautiful half-naked sandwich.

And I stepped out to notice that the rain had let up considerably, and I started up the lot through the alleyway to the back door of our building. And about four steps from the door....

I dropped my sandwich in the muddy alleyway. Bare side down. My beautiful sandwich that was going to get me through the rest of this crapoid day.

I picked it up, walked into the building, into my office, hurled it toward the trash can, sat down, and boo-hooed like a baby. I can take a lot, but I can't take my lunch being stolen from me when it was less than a minute away from being in my mouth.

I ended up ordering a tuna sandwich from a place up the street, and although it was good it wasn't my deli turkey and provolone on rye with a splash of Thousand Island dressing.

Anyway, I don't know how things could get any worse than that, and later in the day dad's dude called and is supposed to be over tomorrow morning to look at the Poderosa. I have a feeling I can take the news. I mean, I lost my sandwich and survived.

It was the last two slices of turkey, too. I couldn't even come home and make another tonight for dinner.

Man, life's hard.