Special Edition of 100 Things


  1. Around 7:45 p.m., I heard an odd noise near the bar in my apartment.
  2. Abby cleverly detected a disturbance in the force and shot me a look of concern.
  3. I carefully examined the precarious piles of mail and magazines sitting on the bar. 
  4. I saw no movement or shifting that might cause the noise.
  5. I held my breath and listened.
  6. Me: Hmm. It sounds like water dripping.
  7. My heart sank as I remembered that my ceiling leaked in the exact same area last year.
  8. Me: &#!!(^#$@!! 
  9. I rushed to the scene and sized up the situation.
  10. I located a few leaky spots on the ceiling.
  11. I raised my fists to the sky, cursing my upstairs neighbors, convinced they'd set up a water park in their apartment. 
  12. I began moving arms full of candles, mail, magazines, papers, knick knacks, plants, calcium pills, pens, and other ridiculous, non-sequitorial items to an alternate location.
  13. I noticed water dripping down the pictures on my memo board, which is hanging above the bar. 
  14. Me: &#!!(^#$@!! 
  15. I took down the memo board and refocused my attention on the mess.
  16. I tore through my cabinets, scrambling to gather tupperware of any kind.
  17. I precisely positioned various containers to collect water.
  18. Realizing I need help, I grabbed my phone and called my apartment complex office.
  19. I heard a pleasant-sounding recording suggest, "If this is a life-threatening emergency, please hang up and call 911."
  20. Me: What kind of a dumbass would be dying and call their apartment complex office instead of 911?!
  21. Next, I heard the voice declare, "Press 7 to be transferred to the emergency on call maintenance man."
  22. I pressed 7.
  23. I heard instructions to follow in case the maintenance man doesn't respond within a half an hour. 
  24. I silently dared the maintenance man to take longer than five minutes to respond to my emergency. 
  25. I finally heard ringing and was greeted by someone I assumed to be the maintenance guy.
  26. Me: My house is leaking!
  27. Him: *sigh* I'll be there as soon as I can. *click*
  28. Me: &#!!(^#$@!! 
  29. I angrily slapped my phone closed and checked the bar for new developments. 
  30. I noticed that although at first the leaking seemed isolated to a few minor drips, now, it was spreading.
  31. My face dropped as fear and irritation collected in a persistent lump in my throat.  
  32. I soon realized I needed to address water pooling in several locations.
  33. Abby noticed a puddle of water on the carpet, lapped it up, and grinned innocently at me. 
  34. I raced to the bathroom, in search of towels.
  35. I noticed the towel I received in a gift bag at my brother's wedding.
  36. I thought of how awful that event was.
  37. I grabbed a handful of towels, including the cursed wedding one, and rushed back into the kitchen.
  38. I gingerly wound the towels around my tupperware.
  39. They were immediately drenched.
  40. I paused to curse the maintenance man, who had yet to arrive.
  41. I was drawn from these vengeful thoughts by an odd odor.
  42. I was soon disgusted by the gnarly brown water collecting in my lovely tupperware.
  43. I peered up at the ceiling and hoped this had nothing to do with a sewer line.
  44. The leak marks were growing, hinting at further trouble.
  45. I made adjustments to the tupperware and sopping towels.
  46. I cleared the kitchen, in case the maintenance man needed room to work.
  47. I heard a strange noise.
  48. I realized Abby was drinking from the terlet, afraid to enter the kitchen where her water bowl is, because of all the commotion.
  49. Me: &#!!(^#$@!!
  50. I yelled at Abby to stop and prayed that the last bleach-laced terlet cleaning disc I dropped in the tank had long since dissolved. 
  51. I determined I'd done all I could to contain the problem and now, could only wait.
  52. I took the opportunity to snatch up my digital camera and take pictures of the scene.
  53. I pondered how I would blog this event.
  54. I instant messaged Poorge and told him the sky is falling.
  55. He said I should be careful because the ceiling could come crashing down.
  56. I suggested he work a suicide hotline.
  57. I shamefully but happily noted that if the ceiling caved in, I might at least get new carpet in the renovation. 
  58. My imagined Extreme Home Makeover was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by Abby's most ferocious barking.
  59. I opened the door and laid eyes on the bedraggled maintenance man and his already distracted countenance.
  60. Abby lunged into the hall, snorting furiously.
  61. She's encountered this guy before and is very distrustful of him.
  62. I asked the maintenance man to wait in the hall. 
  63. I corraled Abby in the terlet, apologizing and praising her because I don't trust this guy either.
  64. I invited the prompt maintenance man in. 
  65. He took one look at the ceiling, sighed, and said, "I guess I'll go upstairs."
  66. He left and I heard him stomp upstairs and knock.
  67. I heard muffled voices and shifting. 
  68. The maintenance guy tromped back downstairs and knocked on my door.
  69. Abby barked like a mad dog again.
  70. I let in Mr. Fix It. 
  71. Him: The water is from your upstairs neighbor's washing machine. The load was unbalanced and a washer hose came loose.
  72. Me: Oh no! Did they not realize what was going on?
  73. Him: They're foreign.
  74. Me: And?
  75. Me on the inside: Grrrrrrr! Return to your lair, cave dweller!
  76. I closed my eyes as the maintenance man babbled that the leaking would stop and to call if I need anymore help.
  77. Before he left, I dared to ask, "Um, is my ceiling going to cave in?"
  78. Him: Nah. This happens all the time.
  79. Me: *gulp*
  80. Abby: *gulp*
  81. Him: Byeee!
  82. I let Abby out of the terlet and headed into the kitchen to survey the damage.
  83. The leaking had slowed significantly.
  84. Content with the improvement and piecemeal solutions, I decided to compose myself and make dinner.
  85. I opened the fridge and immediately noticed a puddle leading into my laundry room.
  86. I found a flood on the floor of my laundry room, where Abby's giant bag of kibble sat, now soaked and fetid.
  87. Me: &#!!(^#$@!!
  88. I noticed lots of Abby fur and lint fuzz collecting in the water. 
  89. I pulled clean, fresh towels from the dryer and laid them on the floor to soak up the yucky water. 
  90. I silently promised to clean behind the washer and dryer this weekend.
  91. I returned to my dinner duties, opened a cabinet to retrieve Balsamic vinegar, and noticed that the bottle was sitting in a pool.
  92. Me: &#!!(^#$@!!
  93. In the distance, I heard Abby drinking from the terlet again.
  94. I lured her into the kitchen, telling her it was safe, and promising a treat.
  95. I reached into the treat cabinet and found the bag of treats sitting in a puddle.
  96. Me: &#!!(^#$@!!
  97. Abby recognized the treat bag and sat dutifully.
  98. I gave her a soggy biscuit.
  99. I returned the bag to the cabinet.
  100. And so I began brainstorming ways to block the entire debacle from my mind.

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