Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Why Asking For Patience Is A Dumb Idea.

I am an impatient person. I know, I know... You're saying to yourself, "But Shawna, you seem so 'put together' and 'calm' in your other posts." Well, thank you few readers that actually read my blog, but I am sad to say you are delusional.

Where to start... I suppose I'll start with a list of things that brought me to the point that I felt I needed some outside help in the patience department. And then I will give one example of why asking for patience only provides the universe with an excuse to try the little patience I currently possess.


1. Going through pretty rough divorce.
2. I live next door to a redneck with a LOUD truck. He leaves for work at 5:45 a.m.
3. I live with my sister, and although she rocks, she also sucks.
4. There are 5 kids in my small two bedroom, one bath apartment.
5. I have been practically throwing myself at someone who lives very far away and seems to selectively like me back.
6. There are 5 kids in my small two bedroom, one bath apartment.
7. And, a chihuahua.

So... Today I walk into my kids' bedroom and the overwhelming smell of chihuahua urine smacked me in the face. Time to steam clean! I LOVE steam cleaning. It is unhealthy how much I LOVE this chore. I am not being sarcastic. I have a very strange relationship with my steam cleaner. It is one of fascination and morbid curiosity. I like to see how much dirt comes out of my carpet. And I clean the carpet many, many times until there is no dirt left to examine. This is an all day process. Back to the story... I get out my beloved steam cleaner and take the bucket off of the machine to go and fill it in the bathtub with hot water when I see that one of the kids this morning left their bath water sitting in the tub. I flick the switch to drain the tub... and nothin'. The water stays there, freezing and stagnant mocking me. Why do you mock me water?
I notice there is a ball of hair stuck to the drain. The ball of hair is suspiciously the same color as my sister's hair. Every morning she leaves a glob of hair sitting on top of the drain and every morning I scoop it out and throw the wet mass into her makeup bag. Here's an actual conversation we literally just had about a week ago:

"Can you stop throwing hair balls into my makeup bag?"
"Can you stop leaving hair balls in the bathtub drain?"
"I try to get it out of there as best I can."
"Well, try harder."

I realize I'm going to have to fix this problem and there are no men around to con into doing it for me. I grab a screwdriver out of the junk drawer and pry the drain cover off and when I pull it up there is a fist full of hair stuck to it. Ick. I rip all of that out and notice... the water is still sitting there. Shit. What now? I grab the only other logical tool to use in a situation like this. My crochet hook. I pull out another massive wad with that. Still, the water stays. I grab the next best tool, and it was also recommended by Wikipedia. A plunger. It works on the toilet, so why not the tub? I start furiously plunging and while I am cursing the day my sister was born and pulling more and more dyed and damaged hair out of the drain, my phone slips out of my pocket and plops into the tub, which is filled with hair, dirt and now (because I used a plunger) poop water. I reach into the filthy water and pull my phone out hoping I can salvage it. Nope. It's dead. It utters one last guttural sound- The Office theme song plays one last time, slowly in a definite moment of passing. FUCK! My only love in life is texting. I text ALL day long. I only text three people so I am sure they are happy about my loss. But, I am distraught.
I hear the neighbour men outside. I run out there and ask them to help. One neighbour suggests a plunger. The other neighbour says that is the dumbest idea he's ever heard, that only an idiot would use a plunger. Apparently it pushes the clog the opposite way back into the drain. Good to know AFTER THE FACT. Thank you Wikipedia. He tells me to get a wire coat hanger and unravel it and make a hook at the bottom. I ask him if he can just do it. I bat my eyes. He does it. He pulls out a wad of my sister's hair from the drain and throws it on my bathroom counter instead of in the trash can in plain sight. I stop batting my eyes and tell him to leave. He leaves.
I then bat my eyes one last time (because I don't have the complex manager's number) and ask him to make a phone call for me since my phone is dead. He calls him. I resume NOT batting my eyes.
The manager came with a snake. No use. He then had to call a plumber.
The plumber arrives after three hours of me trying to fix the problem on my own. He chuckles and ays, "You wudda never got this fixed all on your own!"
Thank you plumber. You summed things up nicely. I think that comment applies to every issue with patience I have with every item on the aforementioned list.


  1. What. The. Heck.

    Is your sister a Wookie?

  2. There's a good chance she is. I've been doing a little geneology lately and some our family tree is questionable...


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