My brain tries to pair me like Bluetooth and is defeated by dentures

Some time last week my phone buzzed: it was a ‘hey girl’ text from an ex. I have exactly one ex who would send a jolt through me if I heard from him again, and one ex who I’d be happy to catch up and talk some shit with, and this was neither of those people. Another buzz: he sent a picture of himself with a wizard beard. No thanks. I left him on read and closed my phone.

A day later I got an email from Mike. He only sends emails when he wants to talk about his feelings in long-form and express remorse without actually promising to be better. I sent him a ‘sucks to be you’ kind of reply and closed my phone. 

(Note to both, in case they’re reading: get off my blog.)

(Note to the other two, in case of same: hey, girl)

My brain decided this was the time to activate crush mode, and one of my coworkers suddenly started looking less like a potato when he came around the library to chat. My algorithm—which tech bros insist does not actually listen to you when you’re speaking—ran commentary throughout the week. One day we talked about goats, and Instagram started giving me goat videos. The next day we talked about the hike to the puffin colony, and my feed filled with puffins and hiking. The day after that we joked about rural dentistry, and that is when my dude unexpectedly TOOK OUT HIS TEETH. The algorithm said girl, have you tried dating younger men? 

Hard pass. Absolutely not.

GTFO ALGORITHM 

So this is not shaping up to be a Heated Rivalry situation. It was enough to get me back on my diet, at least, before the teeth came out. (It was funny, I still like him, but he’s back to being friend-shaped. Probably a deliberate move on his part to brake-check me.)

Last day of work. Tomorrow we drive up to St. John’s to pick up Mike. My mental walls are going up, and I have a week-long home repair list to keep him busy. It’ll be fine. When he takes the kid back home for the summer, I will suddenly find myself with nearly 3 weeks all on my own, which I realized has never happened before in my entire life; I went from living at home, to having a roommate, to marriage and babies. The longest I’ve been on my own was 2 years ago, when the family went to Japan for a week. It was a really good week, even though a tree fell on the house and I discovered a feral cat living in my studio, which I tried to catch with a motion-activated camera and set off a chain of events that ultimately led to me quitting my job and leaving the country in the middle of the night on the day after Christmas…

…Actually, you know what, I’ll text the ladies from work and see about hanging out with them from time to time. 

Abuse of the backspace key

 This song came up on my algorithm and I feel called out. 

Get off my ass, algorithm, I haven’t done that in a long time. 

Our staff met in town for an end-of-year social at a local restaurant. I was excited about it, because I haven’t had a drink with anyone in almost a year and my coworkers are pretty lively, but when we got there everyone sat down stiffly around a square of plastic-covered tables that had been pushed together and they didn’t say much of anything at all. For a bit I just drank my beer and watched them to figure out what was going on: the person on the end doesn’t trust the person next to them. The spouse in the middle didn’t want to come. Those two friends are separated by someone they don’t want to make jokes in front of. There are key people missing. There was no way I was going to get through a blockade of politeness to find out what the fuck was going on with everyone, so I peppered the guy next to me with questions about his dog, home improvement projects, and tv shows until we landed on things he enjoyed talking about (bbq grills and mobsters). After the plates were collected and bills were paid, everyone sat tensely with a hand on their empty drinks, pretending to listen to the overhead music. “They’re waiting for someone else to leave first—we should make a break for it,” I whispered to the lady next to me. “Well, hell, let’s do them a favor,” she said, and we both pushed back our chairs and picked up our purses. The group instantly broke apart like a flock of birds. There was relief and laughter in the parking lot. Staff parties are so weird. 

One week left until school is out, unemployment begins, and Mike shows up to collect the kid for the summer. I feel nothing about him visiting, which is an improvement over anger.

What I have been feeling, walking around the pond on my lunch breaks, is something like… delight? I’ll be walking through flowering trees, feeling happy that my favorite duck still has all four of her ducklings, or that I saw little fish under the bridge, and then the sun will come out or the wind will blow my hair up and suddenly I’ll get a big feeling in my chest and start laughing. I think it’s deep relief, after so many years of tension. Even after all these months it’s still unspooling. 

Light bringer

Report: first second (!?) week of June. Still no glow up. Still no crush. But I made FIRE. And saw DUCKLINGS. And then my neighbor let me drive an excavator.

The wood stove in the studio was kicking my ass, because a) I only had a dollar store fire starter that didn’t really work, b) my kindling was just some paper from a flat-pack furniture box, and c) I couldn’t be bothered to look up how to correctly stack the logs because my phone was way across the room, ugh. Just throw a log in and light it on fire, how hard can it be? People burn their homes down all the time. 

After dozens of clicks on my crap-ass lighter, the flame finally caught, the paper burned up immediately, the stove filled with smoke, and the logs remained unlit. 

The next day I made fun of my fire-starting survival skills and my coworkers tipped me off to the secret of traditional Newfoundland fire-starting: the huge stack of Tim Hortons drink caddies on top of the staff fridge. Turns out part of the reason they’re all Tim’s addicts is because the pressed paperboard caddies burn like artificial logs. After work I took a few from the stack, found some matches, watched a 30 second video on how to stack wood properly, opened the dampers, and had a roaring fire in less than a minute. Annoying how things actually work when you find out how to do them.

And so we will survive the winter, just so long as my office mates don’t give up their London Fog lattes. 

Down at the pond, the spring crop of ducklings has come in. The she-ducks have been conspicuously absent for the past month, and now they’re all along the shores, trailed by little bobbing tribbles. The trees blossomed the same day, and filled with waxwings. I love the season so much. Except for the semen tree by the parking lot. I was not prepared for the smell when that thing activated.

Yesterday evening Zenny and I watched the Great British Photography Challenge, and then grabbed the camera and ran outside. Our neighbor and his little dog waved hello and hopped down from the excavator he’s been destroying his yard with for the past few weeks. I asked what he was building, and he said, “I don’t know yet, buddy lent it to me and I’ve just been playing with it! Want to drive it?” Hell yes I did. Zenny stood at a safe distance while I threw levers and dumped dirt out of the bucket. I was feeling very cool and tough until I saw the photos she took of me, looking like a dog who has discovered itself driving an ambulance. “You were screaming a bit, too,” she said.

Very attractive

                                                                                                                           

Ok that’s enough, I’m going to break something

We waved goodbye to Ernie and Dexter the Shih Tzu, and walked down to the shore to go beachcombing with the camera. I took off my shoes and socks to walk into the freezing water and place a rock where Zenny liked, then tossed pebbles to make ripples for her until she was satisfied. This has been the only activity I’ve been able to really engage her in, so we are going to lean into it. I’ll be happy to get weird about analog equipment and dark room chemicals if she wants to, but we’ll start by learning the basics.

These were her favorite shots:

I followed along behind her and took pictures with my phone, enjoying the textures of the rocks and the reflections of the water.

Feeling pretty happy. 

Back in hot water

My knights in shiny neon vests showed up first thing in the morning, before I could call the plumber. Together, my coworkers pulled the tank out, took me to buy a new one ($700, but it has an 8 year warranty), fixed the janky wiring in the basement, and had me up and running again in 2 hours. They even took the old tank away. I love them.

After getting home in the evening, my boss emailed me, laughing; her water heater just burst. Those hardware store guys must be serious about moving product. Guard your tanks, people.

Plumbing by Dr Seuss

The shower ran out of hot water too fast. I went under the house to investigate, and water was pouring out of the water heater. I shut the valve off and texted Mike (he’s replaced water heaters before). He said to open it up and look inside. Hell no, it is covered in “don’t touch! burning hot!” warnings. Also it is dark and scary under there and I can’t find my emergency flashlight.

So I texted my coworker, and he gave me the name of the local plumber. 

The plumber’s name is Mario. 

I don’t have the money for any of this, lol.

Librarian vs toilet

Saturday was raining sideways, and the trees were fighting to hold on to the sea cliff. I got back from running errands, slammed the door shut against the wind, dropped my shopping bags, and called out to Zenny, “I got carried away and bought a curtain rod and a lamp, and now we’re over budget, so no more spending money until payday! Phew, that means we can stay inside and bake something and watch a movie and enjoy the rainy day! What a good day to stay inside!”

She walked into the kitchen like a golden retriever who had just eaten the couch. “So…”

“Oh no.”

“… I dropped the toilet lid.”

My debit card made a small strangled noise from somewhere inside my purse.

Our ancient toilet has never flushed. I replaced the flapper, the floater, and the handle, and finally gave up when I realized the entire tank mechanism and lining needed to be replaced. The old wine cork holding the thing in place got shoved back in and I put toilet on the “shit to make Mike fix when he visits” list. We’ve had to lift the lid off and pull the chain every time we used the toilet for the past 3 months. 

Zenny led me to the bathroom to have a look at the shattered toilet. We don’t get mad about broken things in our household; my grandfather would fly off the handle about broken glass, and my mother never understood why a jar of jam was worth a punch to the head, so when I broke something as a kid she just picked me up and set me in the hallway so I wouldn’t cut my feet, and swept it up. Mike’s father was the kind to take a belt to his kids when they broke something, so he was relieved to adopt the “eh, stuff breaks” attitude with our kids, too. None of our children are afraid to tell us when they break something, and they don’t get mad when someone else breaks something, either. That generational curse has been broken like a dropped teacup.

We swept the shards into a cardboard box. There was no way to easily replace the lid, since it was an old non-standard shape. And even if we could replace it, the damn thing still wouldn’t flush unless I replaced all the tank mechanisms. Canadian Tire had new toilets in stock for under $200.

“Looks like we’re learning to install a new toilet today. It took this guy on YouTube 4 minutes, so it should only take us about 4 hours.” 

So out into the wind and rain we went. 

There is an employee at Canadian Tire who knows how to fix anything and can tell you exactly what you’ll need to get it done, and while summoning a high school kid with a dolly to haul the toilet to our car, he explained how to install it and what would most likely go wrong. “The first thing that might break will be the shut-off valve and the hose to the toilet, if it’s as old as the rest of it. If that happens, you’ll have to come back and get a replacement.”

And that is exactly what happened. After taking the new toilet out of the box and making sure all the pieces were intact, I tried to remove the old toilet, and the water valve handle immediately broke. 

Back at Canadian Tire, my guy caught me trying to figure out which parts I needed on my own, took them out of my hands, and walked around handing me the correct ones. Zenny and I got to the checkout, and one of the maintenance men from my college was in line in front of us. We compared DIY projects, grabbed snacks at the counter (it is a universally known rule that if you have to be at a hardware store, you get to buy a treat), and discovered we were parked next to each other in the lot. He rolled down his window as we were starting our cars and called over, “You’ve got my contact - send a message if you need help!” “Thanks! You know how to do plumbing?” He made a face and tried not to laugh. Right. Maintenance man. I promised to message him if I broke everything.

The underside of my house is a Dexter kill-room of plastic sheeting and scary rumbling pipes that snake around concrete support columns. I saw a drip on one of the pipes and decided, nope, I did not see that. Not today. Found the lever, shut off the water, ran back upstairs, disassembled the toilet hose, yanked off the valve, shoved on the “shark”, and didn’t realize there was copper ring thing still stuck on the end of the pipe until it was too late. The valve got stuck on the copper thing, and water sprayed everywhere when I turned it back on - Zenny pounded frantically on the floor and I threw the lever off again. The piece was hopelessly jammed. Whatever the shark does to attach itself to a pipe, the fucking thing would not come off no matter how hard I pulled. 

After about an hour of pulling and swearing, all I had managed to do was injure my arm, knock over and spill an entire bottle of toilet cleaner into the tub, and hit myself in the face with a wrench. Also, I needed to pee, and I was not about to do it in the sink or the blue-goo-covered bathtub. I messaged my coworker. 

20 minutes later, his wife and I were standing in the hall watching him fight with my toilet valve. He couldn’t get it off either, but he knew what I needed to do. “Ok. You’re going to need to cut the pipe behind the copper seal, sand off the paint, and get a new shark. It’s easy and the cutter don’t cost much. We’ll still be in town for a bit if you needs us to come back.” He gave me a little plastic shark-remover tool, just in case something went wrong with the next one, and some emery paper for the pipe, and I waved goodbye to them. First visitors! I was glad the place was reasonably clean. Except for the disassembled toilet in the hallway and the blue crime scene in the tub.

BACK TO CANADIAN TIRE. Now on first-name terms, Scott from Hardware showed me which pipe cutter I needed and how to use it. I was tired by then, and took a moment to look at the tool in my hand and focus on remembering his instructions. I had managed to cut myself on the broken toilet without realizing it, but couldn’t wash my hands without the water on, and we both noticed the smeared blood and dirt on my hands at the same time. He gave my shoulder a sympathetic pat and said, “Ah there, bless you. Just… God bless you.” I appreciated that he didn’t suggest I give up and hire someone. Any dumbass can learn to cut a pipe, and I got the feeling he had faith that I’m just as much of a dumbass as anyone else. 

Mug shot of perpetrator

And it worked. I cut the pipe. Jammed in the shark. The seal held. After draining it and cleaning up, the toilet itself took about 10 minutes to change out, maddeningly. Scraping the old wax seal off the hole in the floor was something I was not prepared for, mentally. It was like cleaning earwax out of a very large ear. Disgusting and somehow… wonderful? Brains are weird and terrible things to have.

Zenny and I crowed in triumph and spent some time flushing the toilet and watching it go. You just press the lever! And it flushes! So fancy! “I should have had you to drop that thing a long time ago,” I told her.

I texted my coworker the good news and thanked him for helping. And now I have a pipe cutter, so I can get a side gig breaking other people’s toilets, I told him. That is called job security, Cyril, you’re welcome.

And after all that, I did not take a picture of the new toilet. I still kind of like the shape of the old one, so I think I’ll stash it in the tool shed and see about refurbishing it later. If I can find a lid for it and replace the tank mechanisms, maybe I can eventually replace the urinal-to-nowhere in the studio with a toilet-to-somewhere.

On Sunday I baked a loaf of banana bread to thank my coworker and his wife for coming to help, and made “dot cakes” with Zenny. Social media influencers spend a lot of time inventing stupid recipes, and someone decided that cupcakes could be improved on by baking a thin sheet cake, punching holes out of it with every jar in the cupboard, scraping an inch of frosting over them, smashing them in sprinkles, and throwing away the rest of the cake. We watched a cute video of a stoned man in his underpants making a mess of them, and decided it looked like fun. And it was! We only had a bite, though, because by the time they were done we had eaten enough cake scraps and frosting to make ourselves sick, and also 50% of our household has a broken tooth that does not want anything to do with candy gravel. Zenny will eat them after school during the week.

We ran out of ramekins so we used our drinking glasses, and now we have to drink everything out of mugs. 

And now it is June. It snowed in St. John’s this morning. I laughed.

- -

Still no crushes to report. I am not devoted to this hobby, I just thought it sounded better than caffeine addiction.