If you wish not to read about normal bodily functions, (poop, for instance) I would suggest you move along and find some nice other blog that discusses something more entertaining, like Rosie quitting the View or Alec yelling at his kid.
So, you may remember in December a little post referencing me as the Toilet Clogger.
OK, I'm not. Not all the time. Occasionally, well, occasionally I've had plenty of fiber, and maybe our toilet needs to be snaked or something, but today was one of those days. Or maybe I should stop buying the Ultra Aloe, 16-Ply freaking toilet paper. I am beginning to think that's the culprit of these incidents.
So, had a little toilet problem today, nothing major, everything nasty cleared out OK but there was that soggy paper left in the bowl, and that tiny bit of water that leads you to believe there is a toilet issue.
So, I leave it, thinking that it'll clear itself up. I flush it a little later, the water rises to the top, with about a half-inch of safety net. I heave a sigh of relief. The water did not go any higher.
I got the plunger out, and tried to plunge a little, and keep in mind, this is not gross plunging, or else I wouldn't have gotten the plunger out, I would have just waited till Hubby got home and blamed it on one of the kids.
So I plunged a little, nothing happened, flushed some more and watched the water rise again to the half-inch mark and stop. Again, I heave a sigh of relief.
Fast-forward six hours, back at home, and the phone rings. It's Swishy. She has just received the CDs I sent her so we're chit-chatting (if you could hear our conversations...), and then I tell her how I clogged the damn toilet again, and she starts laughing and says, "Didn't you blog about that once?"
I'm like, "Yeah, why does this always happen to me." Then I go into the bathroom, with Swishy still on the phone and I tell her I'm going to try to plunge it some more.
The toilet is looking OK. Not so much water. No gross stuff, just some of that ultra 16-ply sogging up the toilet hole (what is that called anyway? The toilet spout? Is there a name for that place where it all goes down?).
So, I'm plunging and laughing with Swish on the phone, griping about it, and griping that I'm home and Hubby's downtown tonight for something and then I flush and watch as the water rises. No worries. I've flushed it six or seven times since "the incident" and the water always rises to half-inch and then stops.
Except for this time.
The water begins its slow cascade over the rim and I begin to scream, "OH MY GOD! IT'S OVERFLOWING!"
Swishy's yelling, "No it's not!"
"Yes it is! Fuck! Shit! Fuckshit! AJERS, GO GET ME ALL THE TOWELS IN THE HOUSE!"
I totally floundered in the emergency. I wanted to start bailing water, but with WHAT?! I tried to put the garbage can next to the toilet to 'catch' water, which is the dumbest thing I could ever think to do. I am standing in poo water, and it's sliding all across the floor, into the foyer, behind the door, almost to my office, and into the hall closet.
"Swish! I gotta go!" And I toss the phone God-only-knows where.
"THROW ME THE TOWELS!" I sop up the mess with seriously, about 18 towels, and my feet are squishing all over it and I'm yelling at the kids, and I'm standing in water that has housed about a million poos from our family alone, and if I think about it I'll start puking.
I noticed water went down the air vent, so after I have the 18 soaking towels layered upon one another to sop it all up, we trudge downstairs, and yes, of course, there is water seeping from the ceiling onto the desk, the carpet, the computer harddrive.
Holy Eff Bomb!
I am furious, mad, angry, but then also thankful that I do not live alone because, even though I am handling this situation as best as I can, I have come to realize that I need my husband for more than just S E X! Ha, did I just say that! Like I even need him for THAT!
Anyway, long story too long, I am pissy, want to open a bottle of wine and suck it down. My feet, although I have washed them in the shower, feel yucky to me, tainted from walking in poo-water, and my hands aren't feeling that fresh either.
Yuck. Yuck, Double-triple-yuck-fuck.
So after screaming for towels, screaming because of the mess, screaming because the basement ceiling is now leaking, I go into the kitchen, still screaming and tell the kids to put on that damned movie now or else they can go to bed!
Then I say to Diva, "I AM ABOUT TO HAVE A MAJOR FREAKING FIT!"
Diva says very timidly, so I don't scream at her, "Mom, no offense, but I think you already did."
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Addendum: So, Hubby just calls and I tell him the toilet overflowed again.
"Who's the culprit?"
"It doesn't matter," I say. "That toilet NEEDS TO BE SNAKED!"
"Did you clean it up to save the wood floor?"
Me, "Of course!"
We start to bicker a little bit about the problem, I tell him we need a plumber, and that it's not my fault!
He says he'll talk to me when he gets home. I say I don't want to fight about it.
He says, we're not fighting about it, he just does not want to discuss my stinky poops while he's trying to drive home.
I just can't win, can I?