Slow and Low

So I went back to Rocky this weekend, as I do every weekend, to find that there's no water in the trailer. Whatsoever. The Big Chill we had this week did a number on the crappy copper pipes in the place. On the bright side we didn't have any self-absorbed ex-hippies having sex with each other, so we take what we can get. Hate to see what the exterminator would charge to get rid of those.

Naturally, this made personal hygiene a bit more of a bother than usual. There was a giant bowl filled with water and a facecloth lying in the sink, and I figured this was going to have to be my alternative to having a shower. It wasn't really something I was looking forward to, so I decided to put off until I went to work. Right as I was shutting down the computer and getting ready I got a phone call from my mother saying that yep, that was the new bathing setup. Only that I should get a new facecloth because she used the one in the kitchen to "wash her ass."

*blink*

Well, wasn't that cheeky of you? Thank goodness I waited, is all I'm saying. Thank goodness I waited.

Anyways, I went back to Lacombe yesterday night early to do my laundry so I wouldn't have to wear my Tusken Raider shirt to work the next day. All's well and good until I get up in the middle of the night and find that the toilet won't flush. There isn't water running in the sink or the shower either. I go to the other bathroom and find the same thing. The hell? Is freakin' Allen Funt hiding in the hall? He damn well better be because this is just sick.

Luckily, I woke up in the morning and found everything was back to good. I wore my Tusken Raider shirt anyway, because what's dignity worth when you're desperately searching for the right authority file on a generically-named director of some D-movie that came out fifteen years ago?

Cataloguers will get it, I promise you.