Aug
30
August 30, 2006
One year ago tonight:
Aug
28
August 28, 2006
This weekend something really, really beautiful happened: we got the plumbing all hooked up in the new bathroom. Which meant that last night I took a bath in the massive new tub for the first time. And lo, a choir of angels did sing down from the heavens, and I stayed in there until I pruned up and got that woozy hot tub feeling.
The remodel has now officially been worth it. Say hallelujah.
The plumbing was completed just in time (side note: the plumber we used is a guy who worked for a “cash price” [nudge nudge, wink wink, *coughunreportedincomecough*] of $300, vs. the astronomical $4500 price that Beacon Plumbing – a large local business – quoted us. I hate that shit, the fact that you can either get royally screwed right in the outbox or get a fabulous deal, depending on the contractor you happen to find), because our months of use has taken its toll on the guest bathroom. The hot water faucet in that shower has become progressively broken, with water leaking and running out the side of the knob. JB had taken it apart to try and fix it, but this morning, shortly after turning on the water, he came bolting out of the bathroom naked. “Not good, not good!” he kept saying as he yanked on a pair of shorts and ran outside to turn off the water.
I still don’t know exactly what happened, but when I looked in there I saw this:
Except there was a firehose of hot water blasting out of that hole, directly across the tub. Which I suppose might be pleasant, if you enjoy a robust, piping-hot enema in the morning.
So we both used the new shower this morning, which is spacious and lovely and does not provide unwanted colon irrigation. Hooray!
Now we just need a shower door, a bathroom door, and a toilet. Also…maybe some flooring.
And for no reason, here is a picture of a baby in a sink (because my cat would never put up with that shit):
In other news, Riley is maybe working on another tooth, because oh my god. The crankiness. The screaming. Also, the food-batting, where any looming spoon or food item is furiously smacked, sending flying goo across the kitchen. I can’t tell you how grateful I’ve been for Dog lately, because she basically comes in like Mr. Wolf in Pulp Fiction and cleans up the crime scene after each failed feeding attempt. I’ve considered just putting the tray from Riley’s highchair on the ground for her to lick afterwards, but I suppose that would be Taking Things Too Far.
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