Plungers
Well, I just got snapped at because after Ugly, our 7" pleco died this evening, Steven decided to flush him, rather than throwing him out. I asked him if he was sure, that we had had problems before when I was younger with flushing big fish and having them go down sideways and clog up the toilet. I also reminded him that we had to bury Uncle Creepy (our last large pleco) because he was too big to be flushed. He assured me he was positive that it would be ok to flush the deceased fish.
I went to use the bathroom around 11. The toilet gurgled a little and I told Steven about it. He ignored it. He went in, used it, and came back out complaining that it seemed clogged-- had I plugged it up? I indignantly informed him that I had just peed and had told him it was making funky gurgling noises. At this point, I realised it was the goddamn dead fish who evidently was not ready to go yet.
I am going to interrupt myself here. We have no plunger. When we left Rockland, my mother made off with ours. Steven has one at his parents and has been doing the gunna dance about bringing it over for the last 7 months. We have lived here for almost 8 months without a plunger of any sort. I gave up nagging him about it 4 months ago. Let him suffer if something happens. He's the one who's been refusing to just buy a replacement because we "already have one".
So, I get up around 1:30 to have a last wee before bed. Steven worked a plastic bottle which he claimed had fixed the problem enough to get through till tomorrow. Stuff, he said, was going down, albeit slowly. My painkiller addled brain did not collect the dots to said stuff collecting and more fully blocking up the toilet. So I blissfully flush and... nothing happens. The water drains. My TP just sits soddenly, clogging up the little hole. I wait and flush again, thinking maybe.. just maybe.. it will work this time. Nope. Let's flush once more, third time's the charm. Maybe in Vegas, but sure as fuck not in Weymouth. I am now left with two options. I can a) ignore it and go to bed. This means the toilet will go unfixed until about 6 tomorrow night because the Evil InLaws have ordered Steven to go over to their house tomorrow (also-- this means I cannot go to Bridgewater to resolve anything until Thursday, missing another two days of classes I don't yet have. I also have to attend a wake on Thursday. That's another damned story.) With this option, we can either have a gruesome, wet build up of toilet paper or we could throw said used TP in a bucket until 6pm tomorrow. That's more than 12 hours. Option B is wake up Steven, send him out to the 24 hour Walgreens, and have him get a plunger. I go with this option. It is 1:45am.
Of course he is cranky. This somehow my fault. I am yelled at muchly. He back now, half asleep, asking me to please stop apologizing because it's just making him grumpier. I've offered to plunge, but no word back. I'm a good plunger, too.
This is on top of being aggravated at Steven's mother who, since Friday, has bitched about me being stupid for going up to Vermont in The Blizzahd with my "little knee problem" and then bitched at me for being lazy and no better than Other People for not taking the trash out. She bitched that what was wrong with me that I couldn't do it. Were my legs broken?
I also got a letter, sent to my old address, informing me that I am more than three months overdue sending payments on my Verizon Citibank credit card. Want to know the magical thing? I don't have any credit cards. Can't get any. I have horrible credit, thankyouassholeex. So how can I be late!? I called, bitched, and found out the place that I need to talk to is, of course, closed for the day. I will have to call tomorrow. Add that to the list of funness for today. I guess we should have called, found out about school, and stayed that one more extra day.
Of course, I can't sleep now and Steven's still not answering me about plunging. Bah.
I went to use the bathroom around 11. The toilet gurgled a little and I told Steven about it. He ignored it. He went in, used it, and came back out complaining that it seemed clogged-- had I plugged it up? I indignantly informed him that I had just peed and had told him it was making funky gurgling noises. At this point, I realised it was the goddamn dead fish who evidently was not ready to go yet.
I am going to interrupt myself here. We have no plunger. When we left Rockland, my mother made off with ours. Steven has one at his parents and has been doing the gunna dance about bringing it over for the last 7 months. We have lived here for almost 8 months without a plunger of any sort. I gave up nagging him about it 4 months ago. Let him suffer if something happens. He's the one who's been refusing to just buy a replacement because we "already have one".
So, I get up around 1:30 to have a last wee before bed. Steven worked a plastic bottle which he claimed had fixed the problem enough to get through till tomorrow. Stuff, he said, was going down, albeit slowly. My painkiller addled brain did not collect the dots to said stuff collecting and more fully blocking up the toilet. So I blissfully flush and... nothing happens. The water drains. My TP just sits soddenly, clogging up the little hole. I wait and flush again, thinking maybe.. just maybe.. it will work this time. Nope. Let's flush once more, third time's the charm. Maybe in Vegas, but sure as fuck not in Weymouth. I am now left with two options. I can a) ignore it and go to bed. This means the toilet will go unfixed until about 6 tomorrow night because the Evil InLaws have ordered Steven to go over to their house tomorrow (also-- this means I cannot go to Bridgewater to resolve anything until Thursday, missing another two days of classes I don't yet have. I also have to attend a wake on Thursday. That's another damned story.) With this option, we can either have a gruesome, wet build up of toilet paper or we could throw said used TP in a bucket until 6pm tomorrow. That's more than 12 hours. Option B is wake up Steven, send him out to the 24 hour Walgreens, and have him get a plunger. I go with this option. It is 1:45am.
Of course he is cranky. This somehow my fault. I am yelled at muchly. He back now, half asleep, asking me to please stop apologizing because it's just making him grumpier. I've offered to plunge, but no word back. I'm a good plunger, too.
This is on top of being aggravated at Steven's mother who, since Friday, has bitched about me being stupid for going up to Vermont in The Blizzahd with my "little knee problem" and then bitched at me for being lazy and no better than Other People for not taking the trash out. She bitched that what was wrong with me that I couldn't do it. Were my legs broken?
I also got a letter, sent to my old address, informing me that I am more than three months overdue sending payments on my Verizon Citibank credit card. Want to know the magical thing? I don't have any credit cards. Can't get any. I have horrible credit, thankyouassholeex. So how can I be late!? I called, bitched, and found out the place that I need to talk to is, of course, closed for the day. I will have to call tomorrow. Add that to the list of funness for today. I guess we should have called, found out about school, and stayed that one more extra day.
Of course, I can't sleep now and Steven's still not answering me about plunging. Bah.