It's raining in our bathroom.
While that may sound like the beginning of a killer Dr. Suess poem, sadly it is not. Sadly, the ceiling has sprung a ginormous leak in our bathroom.
Trying to fall sleep while there's a monsoon in the connecting bath has proven to be an exercise in futility.
Trying to explain to our upstairs neighbor that we'd prefer if he didn't answer the door wearing only his tighty-whities has also proven futile.
The cat is freakin' out.
Emergency maintenance... turns out? Yeah, not so emergent.
And so, once again, we wait.
At least we've got the looping theme to The Lone Ranger keeping us company while on hold (as well as Brian's interpretive dance) , and not one of those patronizing "your call is very important to us" lying bi-otches.
Oh and hey, did I mention that I spent 2.25 hours cleaning up my closet tonight? Yeah, just before all of my clothes were showered in tighty-whitey's piss.
You lose some, you lose some.