Whoosh!

I'm now taking the time to smell the roses. Remembering the simpler things in life. Realizing that I haven't taken the time to appreciate those small moments that I usually ignore. You don't know how important they are till they are gone.

Have I got your attention now? Are you surmising that I got some nasty results from my recent blood test?

Nope.

My toilet is broken.

I came home Sunday night and walked into my bathroom. I immediately felt the super sogginess underneath my sneakers. Had Hurricane Katrina suddenly returned and zeroed in on Beverly Glen Boulevard in Century City. The damn thing hadn't been used all day. How does water come out of a toilet when it hasn't been touched in hours.

I picked up all the throw rugs which were now soaked more than Teddy Kennedy on St. Patrick's Day. It looked like there was a leak from the point where the bowl itself rested on the floor. The caulking and sealant appeared to be corroded. I put towels around and hope for an overnight miracle.

On Monday morning, it was still bone dry. I was a genius and wondered out loud whether it had been that hard to clean up New Orleans. After all, it was just water.

Coming home at the end of Monday, it was another wet story. Five Great Lakes had formed around the toilet bowl once again. No one had used it the entire day. Gremlins at work. Or perhaps a home intruder with a bad case of diarrhea.

Now, in my rented condo, the process of getting repairs done is as intricate as the Paris Peace Talks designed to end the Vietnam War. The owner of my unit has a friend who is a handyman and uses him exclusively. But, I cannot call the infamous Tom the Handyman (previously discussed in this blog) directly. First, I have to clear it through the owner. A simple procedure that requires multiple steps. It's sort of like having to call the Mayor for clearance when you want to open that strawberry yogurt in your refrigerator.

Complicating matters is the piping in our building, which was constructed in 1981 with plumbing from 1881. There are frequently notes in the elevator about the building water being turned off so individual units can solve their most recent plumbing issues. It's like the condo board has Shemp Howard on retainer. Our biggest issue happened a few years ago when raw sewage popped up like Old Faithful through our kitchen sink. Apparently, our unit's piping was directly tied to the street and somebody had tried to flush a diaper which created our blockage. Way too much information, I agree. Suffice to say, the water works on our block should not be your next purchase on Monopoly.

Back to Monday. As I sopped up the most recent delta that had formed in my bathroom, I noticed a steady mist coming from the pipe connecting the toilet bowl to the wall. A ha. Problem isolated and solved.

Except it wasn't so isolated and solved. When we headed out for a bite to eat, I noticed a puddle forming in the garage. Right underneath our unit. I counted the minutes until we got the dreaded call.

From the Condo Nazi.

"You've got a leak someplace."

Ya think?

Long story short, I connected all the appropriate telephone dots and got Tom the Handyman out of his sick bed to make a 9PM call. He quickly surveyed all the things that needed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something Vanish Blue.

The only rub was that he would not be able to collect it all for about a week. Is that a problem for me?

Ya think?

We have two bathrooms in our two master suites. But, my roommate and I have varying schedules and can go several days without bumping into one another. Sharing the one bathroom is not an option.

Not an issue per Tom the Handyman. He counseled me on how to turn off and on the water fill valve for the toilet. Essentially, I'm allowed two flushes a day.

I now live for this. The swirling water. That final loud gurgle. The refreshing return of clear and clean liquid. Twice a day.

I'm on a schedule now and it's working, as long as I don't get food poisoning at any point in the next five days. Oddly, I'm now a conservationist and conscious of water intake. Because I have to economize for those two flushes a day.

I wonder how this worked years ago. When people had to go into a shed. Or dig a hole in the ground. I'm suddenly thankful that I don't have a backyard. And I remember the words of a good friend who used to have a summer cabin in New Mexico and had to follow similar rules because of a limited sewer system.

If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down.

Dinner last night: Bratwurst and sweet potato fries at the Angel game.