I thought that pissing on my hand and yielding a failed pregnancy test was the event that had ruined my f*cking week. I was wrong…some of you are aware, but for those who are not…it can ALWAYS get worse.
I decided to make breakfast for me and Mr. MLACS, so I mixed up some gluten-free pumpkin muffins (with chocolate chips) and popped them in the oven for me, then mixed up some pumpkin pancakes covered in butter and real maple syrup, and served them to Mr. MLACS with a tall glass of milk. While my muffins cooled, I blogged about my BFN and drank my cup of coffee. I shared my post with Mr. MLACS and sat down to eat my consolation muffin…when Mr. MLACS suddenly exclaimed “Hey, do you hear that? What is it?” and I listened and picked up on a rumbling sound and replied “It sounds like an earthquake, but nothing is moving?!” I tossed my muffin aside and jumped out of my seat to see if I felt the earth moving…then the buildings fire alarms began to blare and Mr. MLACS and I began to panic, but still confused about the circumstances…then Mr. MLACS shouted “WATER!” And as the word escaped his lips I watched in horror as it began to pour down the wall and windows behind our couch…”Oh sh*t we gotta get outta here!” I screamed as I listened to a river begin to flow above our heads and imagined our ceiling crumbling on our heads “Where’s the cat carrier?!” I exclaimed as the cat sprinted under the guest bed, requiring a joint effort to get him in his temporary prison. I was shaking with fear as I realized that I may lose everything I own (and yelled at Mr. MLACS for not getting renters insurance because I only carry $25k, which is not enough). As Mr. MLACS watched and listened and did useful things like moving the couch away from the impromptu waterfall in our living room and shutting off our electricity, I threw the cat in my car and tore through the house gathering our important documents, medications, wedding pictures, clothes, etc. and shoving them into bags. After I had my essentials I ran out our door into sub zero temperatures and searched for someone who looked guilty–I wanted to STRANGLE someone–I looked around and screamed (to no one in particular) “Where are you, you incompetent son of a b*tch?!” Thinking this was the mistake of a maintinence man or second-rate plumber. Then I sprinted toward the manager’s office in a fit of rage, threw open the door and saw she was with potential renters but to hell with politeness and discretion, I scared the sh*t out of everyone when I screamed “MY HOUSE IS FULL OF WATER! IT’S FLOODING AND WE HAVE TO EVACUATE! IT’S F*CKING RUINED!” And then turned and ran out the door screaming, arms flailing. Unapologetically and undeniably insane. I’m surprised they didn’t call the authorities. By the time I reached my front door water was pouring into our hallway. I walked in and looked at Mr. MLACS and clenched my fists and screamed. I. was. PISSED. I stalked around the house and listened…to the sound of water running through the ceiling and the walls…watching helplessly as it streamed from our electrical outlets…I became more enraged. WTF. Who’s responsible for this? Who the hell is going to fix it? Where will we stay tonight? Will we move–surely we must? Why THIS? Why NOW?! My heart beat wildly as the fire alarms continued to remind me how WRONG everything was.
The manager came round (cautiously eyeing me and keeping her distance) explaining what Mr. MLACS already knew: the pipes in the sprinkler system had frozen and burst–hence why the fire alarm was sounding. What she didn’t ssy (which Mr. MLACS also knew) was that it was indirectly their fault, because they have a lot of vacant units and had (unwisely) chosen to spare the cost of heating them during these cold winter months. It took forever for management to decide how they’d like to accommodate us, but I hastened their decision by planting my (homeless-looking) self and the cat in the middle of their fancy clubhouse and FINALLY around 4:30pm they extended the offer to comp us $80 for a hotel room. The cat doesn’t mind his temporary prison but he HATES car rides. Mr. MLACS had donned his Carhartt work clothes and steel-toed boots to supervise the chaos in our apartment, and he mocked me by imitating kitty’s pitiful howling as I pulled away and smiled through clenched teeth, my car loaded like the Clappits, with kitty crying in the passenger seat. Not fun.
Thank God we’re all ok. Thank God that (so far) nothing of ours has been ruined. Thank God Mr. MLACS was HOME! I’m counting my blessings…but Lord Jesus can this be IT for awhile? I have reached my limit. Amen.