Gotta Build Me an Arkie Arkie
Wow, did someone mention something about needing a little rain?
I've been all atwitter with anticipation over this most exciting occasion. It's like Christmas and New Year's and my birthday all rolled into one!
See, in case you didn't catch on earlier, my house is a bit of a fixer-upper. I was so busy regaling you with thrilling tales of air-conditioning derring-do, I didn't even bother telling you about the puzzling, astonishing, electrifying, (potentially arousing?) case of the poorly draining backyard!
Which leads inevitably and tragically to the case of the flooded living room...but that's a story for another day.
Whatever, so things had to be done. What I assumed, given my vast knowledge of and experience in the area of home improvement, would be a simple task of adding some gutters turned into a months-long saga of pain and heartbreak and occasionally margaritas, except the part about the margaritas has nothing to do with anything except did I mention they taste good?
I learned far more than I ever cared to about this phenomenon that is known as the "french drain." I had always wondered what those were when I was looking at houses. It appeared on every seller's disclosure as "not applicable." What was this mysterious thing, pondered perplexed I, or perhaps I perplexedly pondered. What was it for? It sounded exotic, kind of sexy, and maybe a little bit dirty too, like you'd have one of those french drains next to your bidet and after a night of sweaty throbbing passion you'd use it for...for...well, something.
Hm, well, I have one now. And gutters, and strange giant pipes leading off to unknown netherworlds, and even a bewildering concrete box containing some kind of pump, and possibly a tiny village of Smurfs, but I think they bite so I don't dare to venture out there to check.
Today was the first time it's actually rained enough to matter, so I've been running back and forth, avidly watching this Rube Goldberg-esque production as it whisks water to and fro and over the windmill that triggers the boot that kicks that chicken that lays the egg that engages the catapult that shoots the water over the fence.
It's a lot more fun than studying, which is what I've been doing all day. That, and no drinking of margaritas. However much this post might appear to belie that fact.
Dude, the bar exam sucks.
