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sirsholly -> RE: The Holly and Potty Show (6/1/2010 12:40:32 PM)
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So...i was on a mission to clean the freaking basement floor. It is cement, as are the walls. Very, very solid cement....the kind that hurts when you challenge it to a game of SmashFace from the top of the stairs (Score: Cement 1...Holly 0). Anyhoo...its pretty obvious why i wanted to clean it...i mean...ew. The "ew" factor overrode the fact that i have one usable arm and a head injury that keeps me dizzy. It also overrode all aspects of common sense.
So...here comes me...carrying a bucket, a bottle of cleaning stuff that will make you puke if you snort it, a few towels, Jims toothbrush, and a mop.
Annnd...there goes me.... tripping over the freaking mop handle. Luckily, i was next to the washer when the mop attacked. Lots of laundry breeds down there, making landing rather comfy... so seriously injuring yourself is not possible (except this is ME we are talking about and i didn't land on the comfy laundry and just keep the wise-ass comments to yourselves and stop picking on me, damnit).
Now it is summer, hot, and i have a bunch of fucking flowers planted outside that need lots of water. To keep the well from running dry i collect the washers rinse water in one on those 3 ft deep plastic drums. The drum was nearly full because, while i will conserve by saving water, i'll be damned if i am lugging that shit up the stairs and ouside to the silly assed flowers. Nope...that what hoses are for. Screw the well.
So...one or both feet become securely tangled in the clutches of Mopzilla (One for sure. The one i broke when i fell down the stairs. Yep...THAT one). I tried to stop falling forward because landing on my fractured collarbone and broken arm would have pissed me off. Pissy-mood prevention compelled me to over-correct in the other direction...flying backwards with my usual grace and dignity (oh shuddup) and landing...(i swear to God i am not making this up....COULD NOT make this up if i tried) ass first into the water-filled 3 ft drum.
Needless to say..i sunk (and it has nothing to do with the size of my ass so will you PLEASE stop picking on me?). Yeah...my ass went down, the arm that was not in a sling was hooked over the side, and my lower legs were sticking straight up, looking like a ten-toed peace sign. Go ahead and get a mental image of this (but i WILL consider it picking on me if you laugh) because once you see it in your mind, you can easily realize the next problem..
I. WAS. STUCK.
There was no way in hell i was getting out of there like a normal person would (shaddup...i'm normal, damnit. I AM!). With the top of the drum digging into my armpit, i used my one usable arm to grab the only thing i could reach (the washer lid) and pulled for all i was worth.....annnd off it came. But my goal was achieved (truthfully i HAD no goal...but i had to get the hell out of there before Jim came home, as this would be one of those things he would never allow me to live down). The drum tipped over, releasing hundreds of gallons of water all over the floor, and spilling me, washer lid in hand, out with it.
So...the basement is still not clean. S'matter of fact, it is flooded at the moment, with many many loads of wet laundry floating around. The basement steps are pretty wet, because i had to slosh my dripping self up here as fast as i could before the mop attacked again.
Those stairs are pretty slick when they get wet. I better tell Jim to be careful when he goes down there to get his toothbrush.
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