January 23, 2009
We had some kind of leak problem in our home. We noticed it the day that Pat carried the trash out to the garage, and since he was heading out, I loaded the bag with all the sticky condiments that have been living undisturbed in our fridge for the past 2 years. I piled soy sauce, marinade, and horseradish jars on top of bacon fat, a half eaten apple, and a del taco burrito that I didn’t finish. Then Pat turned towards the garage, and just as he did, the bag broke, and all the nasty shit spilled all over the floor. I gasped, because that’s what I do. The dog jumped for joy and started dry humping the chicken bones, and Pat put on gloves and a mask, and started cleaning it up. It was pretty fantastic the way it all worked out. I stayed out of the way, because I was already dry-heaving and clearly Pat had it covered.
But then I stepped on the corner of the rug, to get out of the way, and was all, “oh fuck, the dog peed on the rug again.” Only it wasn’t pee, it was the leak from our pipes that run under the tile. But we had already thrown out the rug and skinned the dog, but kept her ears because they’re so soft and lovely to rub.
So anyways. All day yesterday our house looked like a scene from E.T. You know, the part where E.T. has phenoma or something and he’s in the breathing tent, and Drew Berrymore gives him some Reese’s Peices, and he’s all WTF, Drew? I’m an alien, I eat space orbs and galactic vittles, not Reese’s Pieces. Seriously Drew, I thought you loved me, now get me a space burger, I’m frickin’ dying here.
But now there’s these galactic holes in our walls, and I’m scared a rat that resembles E.T. is going to scurry out and eat my face off. Because that could totally happen.
And don’t judge my cottage cheese ceiling. I like it. It’s retro, and you secretly wish you hadn’t scraped yours off, because mine looks so stellar.