The pipes popped upstairs. My upstairs neighbor called me to say her half bath ceiling was trashed and the half bath on top of her was totally trashed. I went running in to look at mine (awakening The Artist from his drugged sleep) and could only see a tiny wet patch on the ceiling. It'll probably spread.
And that's a bummer, because the half bath of my apartment has just been redone by Desperado's husband, who toiled for hours in this confined space. "What do you think you're creating—the Sistine Chapel?" Desperado asked him at one point.
Pretty much. Lucite counter, mosaics around the windows, glass tile backsplash, rope around the steam pipe, new plasterboard, toned and waxed walls. It's the showplace of 15D. I take people in there (one at a time) to display its magnificence.
Hope chunks of the new ceiling don't start raining down.
Clearly, beauty is evanescent.
Google key words: plumbing, pipes, tile, sink, paint, plaster, faucets, fixtures, water, pre-war buildings, construction, disaster—not baby backpacks, you bozos!
fair warning: on block island or manhattan or in missouri, we can be a little salty
5 comments:
To the Moo, I actually do have a Kelty Child Carrier, model Backcounty, from REI (1-800-426-4840), $129.99 plus $9.99 shipping, which was the on-sale price; came with a detachable backpack that unzips from the carrier and can be used down the r-o-a-d as a school backpack. Also came with a sun/rain hood, detachable also, which you store in the aforementioned detachable backpack. All the bells and whistles, like a hip cinch belt that helps take the weight off one's sagging shoulders, and a adjustable cockpit for child growth. Only drawback, wearing it with child is like a walking dog and pony show. signed, Mr. Bozo.
I suspect the baby backpack ad was spawned by your "baby got back" post a little further down on the page. I told you trying to figure out Google's ad selection would make your brain explode.
That said, I sympathize with your half-bath dilemma. I've been through it more than once, the last time featuring a plumber who dug through the tile on my half-bath floor in search of a leaking pipe while water dropped on his head from the ceiling above. To say he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic is putting it nicely.
Oops. The water is coming down through the window frame. I just put a fan in there.
Things have been difficult here, too. Last night I had to revote for my favourite American Idols. I'm like, so tired.
This voting business is a lot of work, when one feels compelled to vote for each competitor 30 or 40 times. There are five kids I like, so that's betwen 150-200 calls. Yes, you can vote as many times as you want. And now, to top it all off, I have to put together a little resume on my daughter, in a last-ditch effort to get her into Camp Merriewood for the summer season, 2005. If you recall, even their waiting list is "closed." Phew. Let me think this through. If I didn't have sex 14 years ago, I wouldn't have a child. If I didn't have a child, I'd still be having sex. If I didn't have a child, I wouldn't be filling out applications for summer camp, and I wouldn't be staying up 'till midnight two nights in a row casting a total of somewhere between 300 and 400 votes. Is my life full, or what???? Bebe
recovered my user name from original comment post on radiators and found that my user name is a combination of nearly every nickname I ever had, which somehow got through when I managed when I signed up, mangled by the ether, but lovely to see, if only by me, but I can reveal that I have been sainted by blogger. And in case you hadn't already come to the conclusion that it was me with the anon. backpack business, it was moi. But, hey.
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