Insert Random Toilet Humour Here.

So, as one of the aims of this blog is to make people feel better about their own lives, I would like to retell a proud and random moment of mine that happened yesterday.....

I'm at work and I feel the need to go attend to some business in the unisex washroom. (sadly not as fun as the one on Ally McBeal... more like a rest stop bathroom, except you don't have to go ask for the key and you have a lesser chance of picking up a STD.) Anyways... I walk in and I notice the sound of water running... but as I pretty much spend my life being oblivious, I think nothing of it. I attend to business and I go to flush. Its at this moment that I start to realize my horrible mistake. Not only will the toilet not flush, but the handle won't even move. Its stuck all the way down and its at this moment that I start to panic.

Me: Oh God... Oh God... what do I do? I can't just leave... or can I? Maybe if I just close the lid.. no one will no it was me.... Oh God ... Oh God.. they know! They will know! I can't leave the bathroom and ask for help... everyone will think it was me that wrecked the toilet... I swear it was like this when I got here... Oh shit. Oh shit.

(Now as most of you know, I don't embarrass easily. When you consistently fall down and bump yourself into walls, walk around with pen on your face and spill on yourself, and fall asleep in public places including but not limited to the Emily Haines concert you attended earlier this week, you learn to laugh it off. The concert, or what I remember of it, was awesome by the way. She used the term, "flabby chic" and was wearing a grandma sweater.... and her voice evoked the word "haunting" more than any other musician I have heard in a long time.)

But as much, as I don't embarrass easily... I could not face my co-workers with this "problem". There is just no way I could do it. So instead, in my panicky mind, I decided to fix the porcelain god. But, not before loudly mumbling, "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck" as a kind of mantra to help me get over the mental block of having to place my hands into the place, that as a three year-old I was reminded, "Hands should not go".

Me: Hey you, you can do this... You've watched Saturday morning hang-over editions of "This Old House", you used to have a crush on JTT of "Home Improvement"... you can do this. Hey, on that movie, they once they hid some crack and cash in the tank of the toliet, maybe open up the tank and see if that is the problem.

So being the expert in plumbing I am, I managed to take the top of the tank off the toilet..... and drop it onto the floor. And let me tell you, the sound of porcelain hitting the floor is louder than the trains that rip through my neighbourhood. But, I did not have time to care about that, I had a toilet to fix and damn it I was going to alternatively stare and swear until I had fixed that mother. I looked in the tank and sure enough there was no water in it.... well that solved that mystery... except I had no idea how to fix it. The decision was easy however as my solution to every manual labour problem is to bang at something until it fixes itself or is broken beyond repair. ... I just started yanking at a chain and then some other gadget... and eventually after yanking at several different pieces that make up the toilet machinery, I ripped something loose and the tank started filling up. I was so excited that I let out a small scream of delight. (as another thing I am not known for is voice control.)

After making sure the tank was filled and would not overflow, I replaced the top of the tank... but not before dropping it again on top of the toilet.. and I flushed. I have never been so excited to see the deal sealed in my entire life. I even briefly reconsidered training as a plumber, seeing as I had the fixing part down and I'm pretty sure I would look slightly cute in coveralls with my name on them. That thought ended quickly, as I looked down at my fingers and saw them stained with some sort of blue substance.. which I can only hope came from the tank. I can't deal with walking around with blue fingers. However, as much as I scrubbed, the blue will not come off... Oh well, at least it matches my eyes.

I triumphantly leff the bathroom, walking with a strut and thinking I was so smooth, not one person even realized the mini-crisis that I had just averted with my bare hands.. But then a realization, slowly flowed over me. The break room is situated right next to the bathroom and not only are the walls paper-thin, but several different people had been in and out of that room as someone had recently brought doughnuts and my co-workers gather to free food like moths to a flame.

To recap this is what they must have heard.. " Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,....... Bang, Bang, Bang, (drop of porcelain tank.).... Fuck, Fuck, Fuck...... chains rattling.......FUUUUUCK.......water running!..... Wooo!(me screaming in delight).. ....BANG! (dropping the top bank on the tank)...... and me re-emerging a couple of minutes later with blue fingers." I was fooling no one..... that or they think I'm shooting some sort of office-related kinky porn in the bathroom. (I'm not sure which one is better.)

The moral of the story: TV once again saves the day.

Bring on the Hardy Boys.

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"Hey look at me.. I'm cool and hang out with bands"

(and by hang out... I mean.. I pay to attend their concerts and then wait in line afterwards to get my picture taken with them. (and by picture taken, I mean request that they vogue with A & me.. and they, being the "The 88", very cooly agree.)

This is the exact moment where I realized that I was in love with the guy with the black eyeliner and the suit jacked on the end. And the love continued to grow when he broke out the, "Wha's happening?" pose.

And again, the Japanese School Girl pose reaffirmed and strengthened my love for the guy on the end. I love you Mr. Smoky Eyes... I love you. (and one day I will get the ambition to google you and find out your real name. That's how deep my love is.)

Check them out at: http://www.the88.net/media.html

Peace out,

E

Make me a believer, Mr. Toshiba.

Dear Mr. Toshiba:

Just because I neglected over you the holidays to spend time with my family does not mean I don't love you. And to react by breaking down and not allowing me to view my precious internet for a week and half is not the way to prove your point. Did all the times I fell asleep with you in bed as I msned mean nothing to you? What about all the times I pounded on your keyboard or changed your background? Computer... I'm starting to believe that we are in an abusive relationship... I give and I give and I give.. I ad-aware scan you, and I make sure to defragment you once in a while and I never download porn (that could contain viruses) and in return you continually turn yourself off... you cut me off and isolate me from all my msn friends. You don't allow me to communicate with the outside world. I need my celebrity gossip fix. How do you think I felt when people at work talked about Lindsay Lohan sneaking vodka into the hospital and I had nothing to say? Uncomfortable and awkward, that's how. You make unreasonable demands of me... in order to pay for your new adapter, I am going to have to give up a couple of Wendy's runs and maybe a night of debauchery. And you know how I love chili and booze. That's just not right Mr. Toshiba. Its not right. My friends are encouraging me to give up on you. But I will give you one more chance. Maybe if I believe enough in you, you will change for me.... Maybe you love and need me as much as I need you... Oh computer, I have the faith. Don't let me down... or I may have to come over to the dark side. I may have to get a Mac.

Your long-suffering and devoted companion,
E

PS - Will Blog about Holiday escapades and other crazy encounters... but not until I get my fix of the internet. (and that could be days..) Until then.. be happy with vogueing photos of A and I with the 88's.