more bathroom humour

I've just been downstairs in an attempt to use the bathroom (for the first time today--slept in late). The first thing I notice is a large plastic bucket full of dirty water in the bathtub. I'd wondered why Dave was hanging out in there a minute before. Then I turn my attention to the toilet. The bottom of the tank is cracked severely--I can see inside it--and it's leaning up against the wall. A wax seal, still packaged, rests on top of the sink, and a few other plumbing supplies are strewn about. I stand staring at it for a few seconds until I realize Dave is in the room behind me. Still incredulous, I ask, "Does the toilet work?"
"No."
Oh terrific. I head back up for my room, trying to figure out where I'm going to take my next pee, which is imminent. Dave comes upstairs to fetch some stuff and says, "Give me... twenty minutes."

Meanwhile, Buffy is harassing me for canned food. She doesn't get fed until 5:30, but the sky is thick with clouds today, so she probably thinks it's later than it is.

Oh, now I get to carry a toilet.
Actually, that wasn't as difficult as I'd thought. Even though Dave's obviously been drinking today, he managed to walk backward down the stairs.

We just happen to have a spare toilet. Since the upstairs bathroom has been in a state of complete renovation for the last 18 months, the toilet designated for that bathroom has been nervously awaiting its destiny in Dad's spacious bedroom, of all places.


Every time there's a song I hear about which I want to find out more, I always manage to come across it again. Last night, it was from a cell phone.
I'd heard this song before--solo piano, very spare and nostalgic--and I heard it most recently several weeks ago at Starbucks. I should have asked them then what music they were playing, but I didn't. So I had nothing to go on, save my foggy recollection of the melody.

Yay! The toilet's back up and running. And just in time: Dad's kinda-friend Marcy just rang the doorbell; she's spending the night in the guest room, cos they're leaving at 4am tomorrow to go to a dance conference, or some such thing, in Boston.

Anyway, back to the song. So Dad's switching cell phone companies. Sprint, I think, is what he's decided. He must have, because I have a new camera phone now, though the service hasn't yet been activated. I was playing around with it last night, checking out the gosh-awful multi-tonal ringers, when I happened upon one that sounded unexpectedly familiar. I realized that this was the same song I'd heard at Starbucks, though it had been, um, unfortunately arranged (meaning it sounds like it should be the end credits theme for a Sega game). So the phone calls this "Satie Gymnop.#1" which means very little to me, so I run a Google search and find out this piece is called "Gymnopédie" (Nos. 1-3) and was written by Erik Satie. Another search leads me to this music sample.
Success!

Dad and I ended up going to Dinosaur Bar-B-Q on Thursday night. We got there at 9:20, and were told the wait was about a half-hour, so we stood at the bar and talked. Dad got a beer, and I decided to be daring and order a Southern Comfort. Yeah, I know--I had no clue. I mean, I knew it was an alcoholic drink. Chris (N, not W) had said it was one of his favourite drinks. So I thought, Hey, Dad's paying, why not?

I promptly found out why not. Yech... it's like peach cough syrup, but thinner. I waited for the ice to melt, and it was still bad. When we got dinner, I mixed a bit of my Sprite with it, and only then did it become remotely palatable. But the pork ribs more than made up for my mistake. Mmm....

Oh, and that "date" Dad had on my birthday? Turns out the woman he was getting set up with goes to my church. I hardly know her. But he didn't enjoy himself, and definitely isn't interested in her, so that's a relief. Relief, because she has four young kids and, I dunno, doesn't really appeal to me as a stepmother.

Hey... today's the first day of spring, isn't it?
Excellent.