My husband was out of town for work so I decided to turn in extra early and get a good night's sleep. At around 1:00 am I was dreaming of lazing around a river Down Under with Daniel Craig. Drip, drip, drip, the river softly whispered as Danny (he said I could call him Danny) paraded around in that fetching blue bathing suit he wore as James Bond. Then suddenly, the river started dripping wildly, and I begin feeling pelts of water on my forehead. "Make it stop Danny!" I yelled as I awoke in what I thought was a cold sweat but was actually water emerging steadily from my ceiling. AND MY HUSBAND WAS OUT OF TOWN. FOR A BALL GAME. WITH CLIENTS. HAVING FUN. (I will write a whole separate post on how I plan to torture him FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE for this...)
I look around and find water seeping -- and in some places gushing -- from various light fixtures and then suddenly hear what sounds like a river rushing through the baby monitor. I flew downstairs, whipped open the girls' bedroom door and see water pouring out of their ceiling light. Miraculously, they are dry and still asleep. Until the carbon monoxide detector starts going off. Because I guess if you're a carbon monoxide detector and you fill up with water you are under the mistaken impression that those in your charge are about to die. Even when your batteries are removed you don't stop. So the whole neighborhood can hear you and you can render your owners deaf. "They might go deaf but at least they won't die of carbon monoxide poisoning!" your clever manufacturer must have reasoned.
The fire department is called because there is no other way to turn off the detector. Samantha Jones would have been pleased with the crop of firemen who were sent. Had I looked a little better, I might have been too. The (very hot) fire fighters determine there is no carbon monoxide leak, turn off the now blaring alarm and leave, telling me on their way out that the ceiling and floors will soon start to warp due to all the water damage. It is now 7:00 am, my husband is on a plane home and seven hours later we are at the airport so the girls and I can stay with my parents until our place is inhabitable which COULD TAKE A MONTH.
So, people, I can't think of anything amusing to say. But two things have slightly cheered me up:
1. Ed was caught cheating on Jilly again at this bar and apparently Us Weekly will publish the gory details in the next issue.
2. McSweeneys.net actually published a piece I submitted. They didn't send back a rejection asking if I had "the nous" to send it to multiple web sites, so for that I thank them. I planned on linking to it but then it occurred to me it has my real name attached and then my blog would no longer be anonymous... If I did that I might not be able to complain about my husband ad nauseam anymore. I might actually have to say nice things about him and nobody wants that. But I would like to thank Wendi Aarons who suggested I submit to McSweeneys. I love Wendi Aarons!!! And you should too.
Anyway, I will be writing for the next month (at the very minimum, when do contractors ever finish jobs on time???) from Birmingham, Alabama. Tomorrow I plan to scout out the childhood home of Courteney Cox with my two kids in tow and yell through a bull horn "Coco Cox Arquette, please report to the lawn for a playdate!" Who knows? Maybe the Cox-Arquettes are visiting too.