You know when your apartment or house gets to be such a catastrophic disaster area that you think it might just be easier to move and start all over again?

We are SO beyond that point. Seriously, if someone handed me a set of house keys and a pile of boxes, I’d be gone by the morning light.

We had an incident last night, complete with mysterious phone calls and danger – the real kind even; not the imagined sort I am so fond of.

Ed came home with the laundry and saw a fairly significant amount of water on the floor. He asked where it came from, but I didn’t know – and while we were investigating it, I found a much more disturbing mystery on the bed: where was all this water coming from, and also what the *fuck*?!

Water was pouring out of our bedroom light fixture and onto the bed. There was water all over the floor and the walls and the bed was a sodden mass of soggy linens and piece of plaster. Things were a fucking *mess*, and we stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds before springing into action: Ed called the building manager, I called Josh for manly assistance, we grabbed buckets, and started investigating.

There were a number of hugely problematic things to take in all at once:

• So much water!
• Oh shit, the bed is getting drenched
• Where is it coming from?
• Is it coming down the WALLS? How did the mirror and calendar get soaked?
• Seriously, move the fucking bed already
• It’s coming out the light fixture – water + electricity = NO GOOD AT ALL

I cleared all the blankets and pillows out of the way while Josh and Ed moved the mattress into the spare room. We laid out buckets and a tarp, and got to work while Scott the Building Guy came up to see what was going on. First problem: the water and electricity. Okay, let’s kill the power to the bedroom so we can get up there without death. Easy, right?

Our apartment building was erected in 1756 or so, and all electricity runs through ONE breaker in the suite. Turning off the power in the bedroom meant killing the entire apartment. Good job, electric people! We resigned ourselves to working in the dark (aided by Shan holding flashlights), because we couldn’t get around the power issue. Scott took down the light shade, and this led to the next problem:

The water was warm. It was more than warm; it was just this side of hot. We couldn’t figure it out – not only was there no kitchen or bathroom above us, there was NOTHING above us: the Penthouse suite doesn’t extend that far; we were below the roof. If the water was rain, why was it so hot? Scott turned off the water in the building just in case, and Josh and Ed worked to bring down the entire fixture (which was a ceiling fan and therefore complicated – Ed did far too thorough a job when installing it). Scott also punched a hole into the ceiling where some of the paint was obviously bubbling: we wanted to divert the water from over the bed and give it another way to escape.

With the fan down and the wires recapped without anyone being electrocuted, we turned the power back on so we didn’t have to deal with a suddenly defrosted freezer on top of everything else. It was time to figure out what happened, so Shan and I went all CSI on this shit: why was the water warm, and where did the water on the walls and floor come from?

I don’t get to use the phrase “arterial spray” in my day to day life nearly enough, but I got to use it last night. Shan deduced that if the fan and light were ON when the leak started, it would account for the water being shot out in a radial pattern, depositing water along the mirror, calendar, and floor AND why the water was so warm. I took a flash light and followed the trajectory of the water droplets, and sure enough: there was a distinct pattern. The arterial spray of the water was the same height of the drops on the mirror, and from there extended into a perfect arc along the door and onto the floor. Since the fan was on, the light was also on – and this would easily account for the warm temperature of the water (it had been sitting in the light shade for god knows how long, being warmed by the light and electricity). Mystery solved! Shan and I are awesome.

Okay, so we determined that the water wasn’t coming from any invisible pipes on our roof so it was most likely rain. Scott went onto the roof to investigate, and shortly after we heard a startling WOOOOOSH – a great deal of water was pouring out from somewhere. It sounded like a fucking waterfall; it was so loud. We thought the rain had picked up to Calgary intensity, but a glance outside told us that the rain had momentarily stopped – so what the fuck?

Scott came storming (no pun intended) back downstairs, looking both angry and triumphant: he had solved the how. He held up a single beer can – an empty Molson Cold Shot – that someone upstairs had pushed into the rain pipe for fun and profit. With the drain blocked, the water backed up onto the roof and eventually started seeping into the cracks in our ceiling and onto our furniture.

So! Our house is a complete fucking disaster: the bedroom is inhabitable until it dries out, at which point repair men will come and cut a bigger hole into the ceiling to clean it out (mold is bad) and patch it all back up again. They’ll do the same to the living room, which also started leaking last night due to the rogue beer can. Our mattress is propped up on its side in the spare room, because there isn’t anywhere large enough for us to lay it down. Ed is sleeping on the spare bed, and I’m on the couch in the middle of the living room (because it had to be moved because of the first leak). You can’t move anywhere in our house at all without tripping over something that shouldn’t be there, and for once it isn’t due to sheer laziness on our part: things are fucked up in here.

Also, because I slept on the couch last night, I woke up with the worst headache I’ve ever had – it made me vomit several times and black out in a puddle of tears and intense pain.

NOVEMBER IS AWESOME !!!!

For my own amusement and because Kelli asked, here is a complete list of things that are currently wrong with our apartment:

• The living room ceiling is rotting above our couch
• The bedroom is useless for the next week, possibly two, while strange men cut holes in our ceiling and possibly fondle my unmentionables
• The ceiling fan we bought and installed is fucked up and unusable
• Our landlord is going to set up a dehumidifier in there and give us $25 to cover the added power cost (woo!)
• The toilet handle broke off; we’ve been using a bungee cord to flush for the last month
• The Chlamydia Sisters below us
• The Idiots Upstairs (version 3.0)
• Josh and Shan are moving out on Saturday
• Every single electric outlet in the apartment runs off one circuit

.. on the upside, our living room walls are a lovely shade of green and it smells like cookies in here.

They’re not DEAD – I did see one of them yesterday – but either the police or our ineffective landlord got through to them, because they haven’t made a peep since last Monday. I kind of like it like this: eerie yet livable.

My karmic how-do-you-do for not particularly caring and/or joking about their apparently suicide pact came this afternoon, in the form of a piece of plaster falling on my head. Our ceiling is leaking again, and bubbles of wet are growing at an alarming rate. We’ve moved the couch (and found a lot of fun stuff in the process, including porn and long-lost trinkets) out of the way and will place an emergency bucket under the hole, but there isn’t a hell of a lot we can do except watch it get fixed – again – and hope that we’re not here for the start of NEXT year’s rainy season, when this’ll all start all over again.

The sky falling onto my head interrupted my afternoon plans of no-pants Mario playing, dagnabbit.

In a half-hearted attempt to get back on the proverbial horse, Ed and I went to a couple open houses today. The first one was nice enough – huge and in a good building – but it was sterile and carpeted, and in a lame location. Also, it had no personality and looked out over a Wendy’s parking lot. Good when you have the munchies; not so good when you want to see pretty things instead of cars and concrete.

The second place was very close to the first place Ed and I fell in love with (but had no chance at buying, as it sold early but stayed online for weeks afterward). It had new floors and paint, but the building was in rough shape and literally surrounded by small children – there was an elementary school directly across the street and a day care next door. The entire complex needed a great deal of work to bring it up to code, I’m not looking for a project – I’m looking for a home I can be happy with.

I have very little hope that it’ll happen any time soon, though. Ed keeps telling me to try and have fun with the whole process and something will happen eventually, but I can’t stop thinking about the place we almost had: it was gorgeous and perfect and I want THAT place, not something that may or may not be good enough at some point in the future.

I know I’m being pissy and pessimistic about it all, but that’s how I feel. I don’t currently *care* that things will work out in the end: right now I am upset and in mourning and I don’t want to be told to get over it already. House hunting kind of sucks, and the longer it takes to find a home, the longer we’ll be in this building alone with our stupid neighbours. Plus, I get to spend the next two weekends helping Josh, Shan, Miranda and Reilly all move into their new places. That’ll not be akin to torture at all!

I need to get all the vitriol out of my system before then. I’m happy for my friends, but right now I’m waist-deep in a pity party and don’t want to hear how awesome things are for everyone but us.

That’s it, then.

The CMHC will not insure, so no lender will lend. We are unable – because of a technicality – to buy the condo we’ve both fallen in love with; the place so perfect for us that every other available unit looks like garbage in comparison.

I know this isn’t uncommon and it’s happened to other people and everything will be fine and we’ll find something eventually – but none of that matters to me at the moment. I am kind of heartbroken, and the thought of starting the hunt again makes me sick to my stomach.

I am very sad.

Someone at work decided I was responsible enough for People, so they gave me a People.

I’m a manager without a department, which is perfect for me – I don’t have to worry about being too nice to my people then suddenly turn into a foaming wildebeest when things Go Wrong or when yet another crisis is shoved up my ass without buying me dinner first. At least, that’s the theory – even though I am my own department, I still find myself mysteriously responsible for things that Go Wrong on a regular basis and I get all stressed out and sweary and also there is foam. I don’t mind giving feedback or barking orders to people that I’m not ultimately responsible for, but I am very protective of those I deem to be mine, official or not. Someone clued into that, and now I have a People. Just one, mind you, but he’s mine and we have weekly meetings and I solve problems and go to bat for him when necessary. I’m kind of enjoying having a People. If I get enough of them, I will buy them all matching track suits.

I meant to do this all of last month, but I live life on the edge and have waited until the last three days: 7-Eleven in the US has a Domo thing going on, and I want in on the action. Part of Tuesday night’s road trip was spent driving down random scary streets in what turned out to be a fruitless search for an American 7-Eleven so I can get me some Domo love – and since I am unfulfilled, I have turned to the internet for assistance. If anyone out there down there wants to go to a 7-Eleven and get me Domo things, I will send you a Delicious Juice Dot Care Package in return (as well as pay you back). I’m specifically looking for figurines, straws, cups, and anything cute and awesome that isn’t a t-shirt. Canada isn’t getting any Domo stuff, and the promotion ends on Sunday so I am a sad monkey without any fun stuff. Help a brother out? There’s bacon-flavoured candy in it for you!

I am wearing plaid ruffled underpants today, so I fully expect wonderful things to happen.

don't let the thought of bacon fool you: these are actually horrible

Our landlord Had Words at the Chlamydia Sisters, and they are officially On Notice. I’ve never been On Notice before, but it doesn’t sound very good at all. Naturally, they’ve sworn it’ll never happen again, the (only leased) tenant will handle her guests, no more parties, we’ll smoke outside – blah blah blah blah blah. It’s all been said before, so we’ll see how long this uneasy peace will last. It’s been quiet for one whole night now!

Oh, and they’ve been told to apologize to us.

Awesome. I can’t imagine anything more humiliating than being a grown adult, forced to apologize for someone else because you were an epic asshole. I laughed for an impossibly long time when I heard this latest development, and I am seriously thinking about filming the apology. This is delicious.

Will it actually happen? I do have my doubts, but those doubts are buoyed with the uplifting glory of picturing them being goaded into apologizing like a petulant bully.

Last night I went on a mini road trip with Shan, Miranda, Heather and Brigette to America Land. The ladies needed underwear, I needed to go to Trader Joe’s, and along the way we stopped for dinner at Mi Mexico. I was surprised we managed to fit everything in, since we didn’t leave town until 4:30 –  by the time we made it to the border in rush hour traffic, it was already 6:30 and there were many stops to make. Still, by the end of the night we all had reached our various goals of underwear and trail mix, and were all safely home just after midnight.

I bought three pairs of ruffle butt underpants and a ridiculous pearl necklace. Yeah, I make my own fun.

No, you can’t see them.

It feels like Sunday.

1. I never did say anything about my Halloween costume: I went as Girl Mario. I don’t really have any pictures of it, but it was good enough to win me the costume contest at work. I had the hat (courtesy of Nintendo), a moustache, and my own wardrobe did the rest: a red dress, blue tights, brown boots, and a blue apron to which I affixed large yellow buttons made of felt. I also had sound effects, thanks to a few Super Mario sound drop keychains from my swag box. It was a pretty good costume, considering I rarely play dress up.

   I am also amused that the apron I wore was actually a piece of Diner Dash swag I picked up from PAX. It was double gaming nerd goodness all night long, and having the pockets on the inside meant I could store my sound effects and iPhone somewhere other than my boobs. Hooray!

2. There is no news on the house front. We managed to close all conditions except the financing one, and we’re giving that until Friday – if we can’t find a lender who’ll throw themselves beneath the CMHC bus on our behalf, we have no choice but to walk away. The entire thing sucks, but MJ and Chris are working like madmen to make it happen. I’m grateful, if apprehensive: as much as I love the property, I have to keep in mind the hellish time the seller is having. What if we want to upgrade in 5 or 10 years? Are we going to be unable to sell for the same reasons? I’m a happy advocate of the “head in the sand” method of dealing with potential problems, but I know Ed is really worried about this. It seems silly to me to worry about MAYBE wanting to sell ten years down the road, but it’s a valid concern. I just wish the unit wasn’t so incredible – I’d have a much easier time walking away if it wasn’t so very awesome. So, we’re in limbo. If the deal isn’t done by Friday, it won’t be done at all and we get to begin the hunt all over again.
3. I called our landlord this morning to let him know what happened last night. I’m almost disappointed that I won’t be home until late tonight – I would love a confrontation. Ed and Josh keep telling me not to provoke them, but I can’t help poking the angry bear with a stick – it’s just so hilarious! The bear is so drunk and stupid, and my stick is so pointy! Wheeeee!
4. The rest of my Tofino pictures have been uploaded, and are available for your viewing pleasure.

it's a-me! taken by a-reilly!

eat the mushroom to get big

kings of the mountain

We’ve tried talking to the girls downstairs. We’ve called the building manager, and the landlord – multiple times. Tonight it went one step further, and the cops were called.

They started partying around 10:30, warming things up by singing in their car so loudly it could be heard throughout the entire neighbourhood. The party eventually moved inside, and by midnight, showed no signs of stopping. Ed called the cops at my insistence, then went to bed. Me, I stayed up to watch the fireworks.

Their apartment faces the street, and because they were hanging out their window singing along with Beyonce at the top of their lungs, they saw the police pull up. The music immediately went down, and everything stopped. The cops asked them to open the door, and then the act began.

They’d never had a complaint! They never make noise! There was no party; just the roommates! The music isn’t loud – listen, can you hear it? You can’t! They’re just assholes! They love to complain! It’s not fair – no one has ever said anything to them! I can’t believe they called the police! There’s no noise here at all!

Unfortunately for her, I was hanging over the stairs listening and I couldn’t take it any more – I corrected her, reminding her she had turned the music down as soon as the police arrived AND they’d been spoken to multiple times by multiple people about being FUCKING ASSHOLES in the building. A cop came up to talk to me before I could get really angry and start mouthing off, and he said we should just keep calling the police every time they acted like little ignorant shitheads. In the meantime, the girls were flippant and “charming” at the police, and kept repeating that THEY were the victims – we were making up stories because we have “bitter balls”. I don’t know what that means, but apparently we have them and they are bitter. The cops told them to keep it down, asked Josh and I to keep calling the police if they do it again, and that was that. Soon after, the group left the building to smoke on the lawn. I could hear them talking about us. This is going to be awesome. I’ll be calling the landlord tomorrow, and I almost hope they do it again – who needs sleep when your neighbours are this fantastic?

The very best part about all of this? One of the people downstairs is the MOTHER of the Chlamydia Sisters. Seriously, how classy do you have to be to get drunk with your whorish idiot daughters after midnight on a weekday, making so much noise that the police are called? How proud would you be, watching your drunken spawn try to reason with the police by lying right to their faces? I will never know such joy, but I’m afraid to touch the front door in case their brain herpes are contagious.

I fucking hate those idiot bitches and their douchebag boyfriends. I want the street fighting back.