When karma punches you in the face...

I dub this as Perez Hilton's new theme song...



It would be irrelevant for me to go on a rant right now about Perez and his antics as of late. I'm not condoning violence or picking sides, but didn't he have it coming? And I'm sorry but that was a good ass whoopin' son. It's like all the nasty things he's ever said about other people swelled up in his left eye.

I really do hope he signs up for John Mayer's, "Never Call A Black Dude a Faggot Jitsu" class...

Vomit Water

Yo, I don’t know what happened, but I’m still here blogworld. Not quite sure where exactly, but here nonetheless. I think part of it has to do with the fact that I actually have to work at my job and the rest of it is just lack of motivation.

What brings me back here today is something awesome that happened to me this week and I thought I’d share…

About a week ago, my roommate and I noticed that the water wasn’t going down the drain in our bathtub. At first we both just looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders as if to say “oh well’, too lazy to call the landlord. However, when the funk at the bottom of the tub started to leech onto my feet while I was trying to take shower I knew I had to take action.

So the next morning I decided to call the landlord on my way to work. I usually make my roommate call, because after three years the landlord can still never seem to remember my name. I’m assuming a first name basis with someone guarantees better results. Anyway, I call her and tell her what the problem is and at first she tells me, “why don’t you just call somebody?”

Um I live in your apartment. I pay you rent. You are that somebody. (Although looking back now I should have took her advice). After spelling out my name and number for her a few times, she finally sets it up for her son to come and take a look at my tub. He usually takes care of things, so I figure when I get home everything will be copacetic.

Sometime during the day my landlord calls me and says that her son couldn’t fix the problem, to just call someone and foot her the bill. Ok? I get home and my bathroom looks like someone took everything out of its place and put it in a different place. And the tub is still clogged * sigh *.

I decide to wash the dishes while I wait for Roto-Rooter.

As I’m forcing some old Chicken Alfredo, spinach and chunks of other questionable food down my garbage disposal, I can hear something having to do with water in the background. I shut off the disposal, running water and hear again what sounded like a tidal wave and it’s coming from my bathroom…

I don’t know what my landlord’s son did in his efforts to “help”, but now not only was the tub clogged, but the water from my kitchen sink was being drained out of my bathroom sink! And it smelled... smelled like vomit. Vomit water and spinach was splashing everywhere, the floor, into drawers onto my personal things.

After Roto-Rooter left it took my roommate, and I and a ton of bleach, to clean the crusty vomit water out of our lives. The memory still haunts me. * shudder *
On the bright side, it could have been the whole apartment. And today my girl posted on her FB status that she had to call 911 because there was a snake in her house. My glass is half full of vomit water :)