Clogged Kitchen Sink

Today was supposed to be a special day. I had a very welcome day off smack dab in the middle of the week. I had plans - a lot of emails to catch up on, a lot of doggy cuddles to catch up on, and most importantly, a lot of sleep to catch up on. Things were gonna be great! I couldn't wait to sleep in, wake up late, drink coffee, eat Cap'n Crunch's "Oops All Berries" in my underwear, and scour the internet to read all about how awesome the Dallas Cowboys have been until their inevitable December breakdown where they miss the playoffs by one game.

Of course, the kicker was being able to sleep in. I'm the kind of person who can sleep through any kind of noise. TV, noises outside, alarms, barking dogs, screaming girlfriend - anything. I noticed something today... I cannot sleep through the foul stench of whatever odor was coming through the clogged sink in my kitchen. It smelled so bad in my place today, I assumed someone finally dug up the dead hooker that has been stored under my floorboard since Valentine's day.

I awoke from my much deserved slumber because my nose was filled with a horrendous scent. I followed the putrid smell to the kitchen and noticed both sides were halfway full with a black-ish liquid. It looked like something the classic 1950's movie villain, The Blob, would've thrown up. Actually, I once saw The Blob's vomit in the shape of a 1980's movie starring Kevin "Johnny Drama" Dillon. ZING!

Now, since I'm a real man, I figured the best way to handle this was by fixing it myself. I take great pride in how macho I am and I'm sure everyone knows that about me. I like to get down and get my hands dirty fixing motorcycles, gutting the half ton bucks I hunt for sport and shovel the massive amount of bullshit I just wrote. Actually, I am the opposite of macho. To say I am a man is an insult to the entire species of Man.

I do know a little about fixing sinks though because I'm very observant. No, I have never studied a plumber to learn the specifics of his craft but I have seen one or two Drano commercials. I can finally be a man and fix the sink myself with the help of a gelatinous fluid. I was starting to feel quite macho after all. I just needed to take care of a few things before heading out to the local Albertson's. All I had to do was wash my face with a gentle facial wash, cover my problem pores with a moisturizing lotion and freshen my armpits with baby powder infused Citrus Blossom scented organic deodorant. I may be a man but I smell like an arboretum.

I made my way to the store to pick up a nice hefty bottle of Drano and then I would make it back to my place to perform my manly duties. There was no other reason to be at the store but maybe I should look around just in case. You never know when something will pop up at you while shopping for the one necessity. I decided to take a stroll through the seasonal aisle to see what Halloween themed materials that may catch my eye before I head back to the casa and act like the man that I am. As it turns out, they were offering a sale on Reese's Pumpkins, Snicker's Witches and Butterfinger Monsters. I may be a man but I eat like a woman right before she menstruates.

My bag is now full of candy with a tiny bit of room left over for some Drano. I  make it home and open up a few Reese's Pumpkins. I figure I should get my chocolate peanut butter fix before I dirty my hands with the toxic pipe cleaner. I wolf down every delicious morsel and then head over to show that sink who's the man. I open up the Drano and pour half a bottle down the left side of the sink, then the right. That's right sink, who's the man now! As it turns out the sink is the man because the sewage goo that was invading my pipes just grew larger. Reading that last sentence out of context makes this sound like a "Fifty Shades of Grey" fan fiction blog.

After emptying the bottle of Drano into the sink and scarfing down another 4 pieces of candy, I did what any man would've done in this situation. I called a plumber to come fix the clogged sink. I didn't feel that defeated though. I knew I was the man. I'm sure I'll be just as manly as the macho plumber that comes to my door. Doorbell rings and there awaits the knight in shining armour that has come to my rescue. The first thing I notice is the nametag... Jessica. The second thing I notice is that we wear the same deodorant.

Vegas, baby!

I, just like most people, am an avid fantasy football player. I, just like some people, attend a live draft every year. I, unlike a lot of people, attend that live draft in Las Vegas. It is always a great time. Catch up with old college buddies, spend time in poker rooms and at blackjack tables, and act like a teenager for a weekend. The problem is, I'll act like a teenager and then by Monday, I DEFINTELY realize that I am no longer anywhere close to a teenager.

I am an average 30something male with a job. I'm unlike an average job having man because my job does not require me to be there on Fridays. It's kind of like my freshmen year in college where I scheduled all my classes Monday thru Thursday so I can have Fridays off to sleep in, relax and listen to Guns n' Roses "Appetite for Destruction" on repeat. The cool thing about the Fridays off is I can plan trips around then. For instance, if I'm going to Vegas for a fantasy draft, I can leave early Friday morning and have time to hit the poker rooms and relax by the pool before others get into town. A nice relaxing way to start a debaucherous weekend.

Of course, my life doesn't really work like that. If I have something planned that I'm looking forward to, it'll inevitably be messed with. I bought my cheap ass Southwest Airlines ticket from LAX to Vegas for a Friday that I'm not working, only to find out that I would be working that day. I have worked exactly one Friday since before Thanksgiving and it happened to be the one day I had a plane ticket that cost me a whopping forty nine dollars.

Because I'm a team player, or because I really don't want to be fired, I changed my flight. No big deal, I'm on Southwest so there won't be any change fee, I'll only have to pay for the difference on the new flight. Now, spending two hundred dollars on a flight is pretty good, but not after you've already spent the forty nine bucks. Oh well, I'll just win it back says optimistic me. I change my flight so instead of leaving at 9 AM and enjoying my day in Vegas. I'll be leaving at 10 PM and slaving away in Los Angeles. The good news is, I'll save all that money I was planning on spending in Vegas.

I finish my grueling day at work and head on out to the airport so I can start acting like a teenager. I get to LAX, go through baggage, check the monitors to see if any changes and and sit down at the nearest bar to start my weekend with a twelve dollar pint of beer. No worries, I'll just win it back in Vegas. Finish the most expensive beer I'll have until the next time I'm at the airport and go wait in line for my plane. As it turns out, it is now delayed so I guess I'll be having another expensive mug of suds sooner rather than later. No big deal though, I'll just win it back.

After about an hour delay (and twenty four dollars worth of slightly cold Blue Moon), I'm ready to take off to Sin City. I'll now be in at around midnight but not to worry, I'll be a teenager this weekend so I can stay up all night and be fine. I eventually get to Vegas to meet up with all my "acting like teenager" friends but I guess their teenage act is to go to bed by 11:00. I guess I'm playing blackjack the same way I listen to Alanis Morissette - alone.

After the thirteen losing hands of blackjack in a row, I decide it's time to go to bed. I mainly decide this because I ran out of all the money I was planning on spending for Friday night. Actually, I ran out of that waiting for my flight at LAX, so I've dipped into my Saturday fund. Nothing to worry about though, I'll win it back. I get up to the room to sleep my unlucky blackjacks hands away and get ready to act like a teenager starting early Saturday morning. I wake up just like a teenager the next day. That is after I stretch my aching back out, pee seven times and take a blood pressure medication. That's exactly what a teenager would do.

I made my way down to the tables with the rest of my allotted "Saturday" money and was gearing up to win all my money back. I sat down, ordered a "free" beer and got ready to become a thousand-aire. Now, if I thought thirteen losing hands in a row was traumatic, imagine how I must've felt when I lost twenty two. That "free" beer I ordered wound up costing $500.

Since I was completely out of money, I was able to go to the one machine in Vegas that always pays out - the ATM. I put my card in and, BOOM, I know had another five hundred bucks to turn into five thousand.  I decided this time to switch it up a bit and approached a roulette table. I took my chips and followed the advice of Wesley Snipes from the classic '90 film, Passenger 57, by "betting on black." As a simple rule of life, you should always follow the lead of Mr. Snipes when it comes to handling money.

I put my chips on black and the wheel spun. When it stopped, that little white ball was surrounded by the intense red of a roulette wheel. Chips gone. No worries, I had some more chips. Put it on black! Next spin = red. Well, it can't be three in a row, right? Wrong. What are the odds of it landing on red for a fourth time? I'd say pretty low. Bet on black, landed on red. Fuck you Wesley!

Back to the ATM. Of course this time, the only machine that pays out in Vegas didn't pay out. No more funds in my account. Oh well, I did have a nice necklace I received from my dead Grandfather ten years ago. I'm sure the family wouldn't mind if I pawned the one family heirloom I have so I can get some money and pay myself back for all that I lost. I mean, what are the chances that I would continue losing? That's not how Vegas works. If you don't win, then why do so many people flock there constantly to win money. These billion dollar casinos lining the strip are funded by people spending money in Vegas on food, drinks and hotels, right?

I found out that the casinos might be paid for by schlubs like me spending thousands of dollars trying win back a few hundred. Vegas kicked my ass and me crying for my mama. The problem was my mama wouldn't take my calls. I guess that's what happens when you constantly call her for money... or for more precious family heirlooms you can pawn in Vegas for seventy five bucks.