Leaking

So what if I’ve had a chocolate cream pie milkshake for dinner two nights in a row? I sort of like the fact that I outweigh my male coworker. Who cares if I bought more socks to avoid having to do laundry? It’s my sock drawer, leave me alone. You don’t want to know what else is in there. I have cry-for-no-reason PMS this week, but I still love my new job.

My writing’s not up to par lately. Doesn’t flow. I sensed but ignored it, until a friend of mine felt “compelled to vocalize.” I should, in retaliation, post a whole bunch of my infamous fantasy art, which may or may not annoy him. Instead I’m going to tell you about the serious trauma I endured this morning, because it’s the sort of thing that’s so perfect to share. He can skip this part. He’s already heard it.

As I was going out to start my car at 6:30 this morning so it would run a little while (cuts down on ice-scraping time) before I had to go to work, I heard a funny crackling sound. The entrance to my basement apartment is on the side of the house, so I have full view of the west end of the front porch, see, and when I looked up there toward the sound, I saw someone peeing over the edge of the porch into the snow a few feet from my bedroom window. The person spotted me, said “shit!” and awkwardly turned and shuffled away (must be really hard to stop when you’ve got such a good stream going) and I think I may have taken the Lord’s name in vain, because I was so shocked I couldn’t think of all the colorful alternatives I’ve designated for use instead.

Now, my recent acquaintance with all things sanitary (there’s so much involved in water treatment. It’s unbelievable) has made me a lot more conscious of biological hazards and whatnot, and plus that’s just sick, so if I catch him at it again I’m going to call my friend Mitch the Patrol Lieutenant or any one of twenty-some other police officers who owe me a favor due to my previous fiscal involvement, or even John the Chief, who thinks I’m funny, and tell them to come over here and fine this freak for indecent exposure. Probably his girlfriend was in the biffy and didn’t want him in there, too, and I suppose he didn’t expect anybody else to be wandering about out there in the frozen dawn. I don’t care. That’s just foul. What would possess a guy to urinate off the porch when it’s about 4° out anyhow? We’ve all seen A Christmas Story, with the triple-dog-dare, and we’ve all seen the email about the girl who got her butt stuck to a frozen hubcap whilst peeing by the side of the road and her blind date had to pee her off because there was no alternative. What if… well, you know? Ugh. I just can’t get over it.

I love the color of pink the water turns when we test chlorine residuals at various sites of domestic water use. I love that I now understand stratification and reaeration and eutrophication, and you may not. I’d tell you all about it if you asked me to. I love for the radio to play Huey Lewis and the News early in the morning, or some Rod Stewart or even Celine Dion or whoever they want to play on Magic 99, no matter how much I they usually annoy me, because I’ve discovered I don’t hear very well until about 8:00 AM. Isn’t that bizarre? I suppose it’s some drainage issue. Maybe my brain is leaking. I guess this post is proof. I’ll get it together here soon, I promise.