a weekend of deprivation

First, it was the power, knocked out by an overnight storm. Second, it was the water, shutdown by the gusto of an amateur do-it-yourselfer.

Matt hooked up our new faucets last weekend, and they worked perfectly. This morning, however, he took to nitpicking, and determined that one connection was leaking slightly. Unable to just let it go for the time being, he decided to fix it. I was all for it, as I'm not one to discourage random acts of home improvement.

He putzed with it for a while, and then concluded that we needed a new compression fitting or something and a valve. No big deal. We could still use the water if we put a bucket under the leak, so it wasn't a problem. And then, in a moment of over-confidence, he made it so we could not. I don't know quite what he did, but at this point, we have no water.

He went to Menards to get a pipe cutter. He returned home and promptly broke the pipe cutter to a soundtrack of mumbled obscenities.

"Did you read the directions?" I asked.

He then read the directions and discovered that he had used it incorrectly. Sweet. Now, he's back at Menards, and I'm trying to cook dinner without water. It is a real pain, especially when you have a hankering for spaghetti carbonara.

beyond jittery

You know that point you hit when you've had so much caffeine you feel like you've been drinking? I'm dangerously close. Today, feeling like absolute crap from my kettlebell class yesterday, I needed a hit of caffeine. Unable to control myself, I bought both iced coffee and iced tea and even managed to score a cup full of chocolate covered espresso beans. Yeah. So, even if you are able to schmooze a cup of beans from the barista doesn't mean you should eat them all in one sitting. You'd think I would have learned by now.

damn, it feels good to be a gangsta

When I was out walking Vegas today, I spotted a house that had been tp'd last night. Now that's some bad luck. Upon getting a little closer, I noticed that the offenders hadn't used cheapo toilet paper, oh no. They had sprung for the fancy two-ply soft stuff. Punks must have it pretty good.

everyone's a star

No need to practice singing in the shower or at your local bar's karaoke night. Nah. Just buy an $80 ticket to a musical and sing along with your favorite showtunes! It won't annoy your neighbor in the slightest. In fact, they will thank you for your effort.

Yesterday, we went to see Spamalot. It's a great show, but it would have been a bit better without the row of Little Miss Audience Participations sitting next to me. They all looked the same. They all laughed as if each laugh was their last. They sang. They mimiced the dancers' hand movements. They talked ("Oh, isn't Robin a cutie?"). And pretty much drove me nuts. That was Act 1. During Intermission, one of them purchased a set of coconuts and proceeded to make her own clip-clopping horse sounds during the second act. As my dad would say, Calgon, take me away.

busted

3:00. Friday afternoon. I get an email from Patti in Accounting announcing the surprise arrival of DQ in our break room fridge. Dang. Here I am trying to be good when I'm accosted by a Buster Bar. I wasn't even hungry, just bored, and a type of bored that only layers of chocolate, nuts, and ice cream could fix. Of course I ate one, and it didn't even taste that great. Maybe it was the dull ache of my still-sore inner thighs (again, thanks bootcamp) that was ruining it for me. My thighs were trying to communicate something. Like, oh, I don't know, that ice cream kind of negated my week of workouts. As my friend Jolson would say, "Meh."

cruise to nowhere

Last night, after my plumbing surrender, Matt bravely took over. He uninstalled and reinstalled the faucets a few times before he was happy with them (and I thought I was picky) and eventually got them both hooked up and functional. They're still not usable, however. They both drain into the unsuited place called the wooden shelf under the sink. Yeah. The waste pipes are still not connected. Maybe this is what it's like to live on a movie set.

everything but the kitchen sink

There's a good reason that plumbers are paid so well--plumbing really sucks. After work today, I thought my night would be simple. All I had to do was install two faucets, two drains, and connect the sink to the waste pipe. I thought it would take two hours tops, three if I had big problems. Well, it's four hours later. I've called my dad twice. I've been to the hardware and liquor stores once. I've now taken myself out of the faucet game. Sure, I could do it, but, again, it sucks. My hands and shirt are full of plumbers' putty, and my thighs are so sore from bootcamp yesterday that crouching under the sink is honestly a pain. Besides, Matt will gain lots of satisfaction from doing it, and I'd much rather watch Anthony Bourdain smoke and walk his lanky self around the world.

so close i can smell the resale value

I realized a great quality in Matt yesterday--he's incredibly patient with people even if they're being idiots. Yesterday, we had our countertop installed. At about 9:00 am, the guys called to ask what color I had ordered. Um. Yeah. So, didn't you know that like 4 weeks ago? I called their company and things were attributed to guys being dumb basically. At about 4:00 pm, the guys called again to say that they couldn't find my house. Um. Yeah. So, Minneapolis is a grid. If you know how the numbering system works, you can find most any house. Obviously these guys didn't know. They finally got Matt on the phone who gave them step-by-step directions. At 5:00, a bit late for their 2:00-4:00 appointment, they showed up, proclaiming that they almost hit the light rail in the process. Geez. The good thing is that they might be a little dim in other areas, but they know what they're doing with Silestone. They have to come back to finish up some backsplash work thanks to our weird countertop, but so far so good.