My White Trash Weekend

Okay, okay, so actually only one part of my weekend was white-trashy, but it was a doozy:





On Saturday, the repair guy came over to fix my malfuntioning toilet. I had successfully repaired it with a twist tie earlier in the summer, but this time it refused my efforts, and just ran and ran and ran. And the shut-off valve was stuck, so I couldn't even turn it off.

So! Grumpy McGrumpAss came over Saturday afternoon, and monkeyed and monkeyed, and finally said, "I'm going to have to replace this toilet".

Yay! So he went and got a new toilet, almost gave himself a heart attack lugging it up the stairs, and decided that rather than try and lug the old toilet back down the stairs, he would simply pitch it over the second-floor deck railing.

And so he did. Which is how briefly, on Saturday afternoon, I had a broken toilet in my back yard, with kittens crawling in and out of it. White trash, indeed.*

On Saturday night, the Boy Toy made one of his periodic phone calls. I haven't been screening my calls lately, so I actually picked up the phone. And I was polite, and spoke with him nicely, seeing as how he was calling at 9:30 p.m. instead of three in the morning like he usually does.


So! Guess who showed up on my doorstep Sunday afternoon? AAARRRGGGGGHHH. Time to start screening calls again.


And in kitten news, they're still doing the "bunny hop" down the stairs. Their front legs go right, left, right, left, down the stairs, but their back legs go hop hop hop together. It's the cutest thing.


Oh, and on Sunday morning, I don't know who was worse: Me, or my Mom. Me, for waking up twenty minutes before I was supposed to pick her up to go to lunch, or her, for being pantsless when I arrived.



But! The Bills won their fourth game in a row, giving them their best start in sixteen years, so all is well with the world.

Oh! And I just did the math, and it turns out that the Boy Toy is now ......... thirty-six years old. ** Which means that I really should come up with another name for him. "Man Toy" just sounds ...... skeevy. Any ideas?

*And let me tell you, that toilet left one helluva divot in the backyard.

** I first became "involved" (blleerrrch - I hate that word) with the Boy Toy when he was twenty-one. Which means I've been taking his three a.m. drunken phone calls for ........ fifteen years!?!?!. Oh my gaawwdd.