A moving story

Not to toot my own horn (TOOT! TOOT!) but in the middle of all my don’t-get-my-wrist-mole-excision-sutures-wet bullshit (TOOT!) drama, the flapper in my toilet (WHERE I TOOT!) tank started leaking. LOUDLY. LIKE A BIG LOUD TOOT. I’M SURPRISED YOU ALL COULDN’T HEAR IT. And not only did I buy the right-size replacement flapper ON ONLY THE SECOND TRY, but I also managed to remove the old one, install the too-small replacement one, remove the too-small replacement one and finally install the right-size replacement one ALL WITH ONE HAND.

TOOOOOOOOOT! Flush.

Don’t scream words like UNIVERSAL, FITS ALL BRANDS and REPLACES ALL STYLES in huge bold type at the top of your damn packaging

and then all-but-literally whisper 2” in brown-on-fucking-gradient-brown-on-fucking-beige on the bottom corner under the fucking blister pack with no context that might alert me to the fact that 2” is FUCKING IMPORTANT PURCHASING INFORMATION TO KNOW and not expect me to yell FUCK at you on my blog after I’ve torn my toilet tank apart and gotten myself covered with toilet-tank slime and finally gotten your poorly labeled flapper installed and THEN discovered not only that it was the wrong size but even that there are multiple sizes you should have made me aware that I should consider so I wouldn’t have to make two trips to the hardware store when there is no earthly reason this repair project should warrant two trips to the hardware store, korky.

PS: Your company name is stupid. And fucking LEARN HOW ADULTS CAPITALIZE.

Well, here’s why it won’t flush, ma’am: The chain came loose ...

#lookoutside

Goodbye, Mickey 5K costume!

It’s been fun, but even in the 5:00 am Florida coolness, it’s also been hot. There’s a very good reason I never run in hats and long sleeves unless it’s below 50°: I’m a furnace.

Also: Hello, plastic box of morning and night bipolar meds that I just noticed are on the counter in front of me in my selfie! You make me a wiggly furnace.

Also: Our route this look morning looks like a laughing Muppet. Or a melting toilet with a plunger left in it:

Because nothing says WELCOME TO OUR VACATION HOME! like being able to greet people on your porch through the window as you sit on the toilet

First day back at physical therapy!

New thing that I didn’t even realize is an essential bucket-list experience: They used a plunger on my kneecap. As in THEY USED AN ACTUAL-LOOKING (THOUGH TODDLER-SIZE) (AND A HANDSOME SHADE OF BLUE) TOILET PLUNGER TO SUCK MY KNEECAP AWAY FROM MY LEG TO STRETCH THE MUSCLES AND STUFF AROUND IT PLUS TO MAKE ACCIDENTAL (OR WERE THEY?) FART SOUNDS! I’m pissed that I’m injured again, I’m pooped from the running they had me do to analyze my gait (I really had to toil at it), but I’m flush with optimism about the success of this therapy.

Also: The home exercises they prescribed for me look like practice being dead and practice being slutty.

The week in memes