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2007-01-16 @ 9:24 p.m.
If I had balls, I would have scratched them

Right after I finished my Dork entry yesterday, I went into my bathroom. Did what you do in a bathroom. Got up. Hit this small bamboo shelf behind the toilet with my elbow and managed to knock a Yankee lavender candle into the toilet. Aghast at the sight my lovely Yankee lavender candle bobbing around rather gaily in the pee pee, I decided to rescue it with a nearby ruler and pencil. What! You don't think I'm going to put my hand in pee pee do you? That's just not my fantasy, dude!

So there I am kneeling in front of the toilet, holding the ruler and pencil like some pseudo chopsticks stabbing an errant squid in a bowl of Squid Soup with Lotus Root. Did I mention I was dyeing my hair and didn't have any clothes on? Yeah, I dye my hair in the nude since I don't like getting hair dye on anything except my follicles. I did finally "rescue" the candle and threw it into the sink, along with the candle rescuing devices and poured like 3000 gallons of hot water on them.

My Mom next Christmas: "Gee witty, that Yankee candle smells really nice, what scent is it?"

Fortunately the candle search and rescue took just enough time for my dye to set, but then something truly unfortunate happened. What witty? Well, there is a little back story first. For the last three weeks the hot water faucet handle on my tub has been acting all funky. First of all, its not straight with the pipe so everytime I shut it off, the handle is not lined up with the pipe so I can't shut it off properly. Secondly, its been getting worse and worse everytime I turn on the faucet. I unscrew it, unscrew it, unscrew water, unscrew it and then when the handle is just about ready to fall off....the water comes out.

So I've been telling my mom about all this. Naturally she thinks I should call my landlord. Well, if you've been reading me for a while you know that I despise my landlord worse than the heat of a million suns. He's a worthless, thoughtless, despicable piece of dreck who lets the garden hacker guy run around and cut down trees and harass female tenants and vandalize their cars (that would be me) and I would rather drive a rusty spike into my eye and die bleeding on the sidewalk than ever, ever, ever, ever ask him for help again.

So what happens, as I'm standing there naked with dye on my hair? My hot water handle just finally flipped right off into my hand. The whole thing. Shit! And of course, there is a certain time element to this whole hair dyeing thingie. So I had to grab a towel to drape over my stunning nakedness and run out to that chaotic abyss better known as my kitchen "tool" drawer to try and find a Phillip's head screwdriver. But I find it. Of course I find it. Its so huge I could put a B52 Bomber together with it. And then I quickly run back to the bathroom. I did happen to catch a brief frightening glance of myself in the mirror.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!! The fugliest girl at Transylvania Prom Night.

So I dropped my towel, straddled the bath tub and put my glasses on since I didn't want to accidentally screw the toilet to the tub somehow. And then I suddenly realized how incredibly easy it was. I just had to put the screw through the hole and tighten that mother up. And for some reason, I suddenly felt all manly. I kinda felt like I should be chewin' tobacca, and scratching my balls (if I had any) and listening to a George Straight CD with my NASCAR magazine laying open nearby. Yup.

And I didn't even have to call that dirty, rotten, stupid bastard landlord. Anybody for a couple verses of "We are the champions...." Yeah, baby!

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty