Tuesday, 22 October 2013


of this photo of me in my furnace room, 
which was clearly picking up on my vibe. 
The more observant of you will notice 
the eye of Beelzebub leering at me 
from the upper right corner. (Apparently
he lives in my basement. I knew it!)

It’s great to be back from the tropics! Seriously, who needs nonstop sunshine, powdery beaches, turquoise salt water and all-you-can drink rum? Boring! 

And how unspeakably fantastic is it to come home to find that we've lurched directly from heatwave season into sleet season and that, for my added homecoming pleasure, the furnace in my FOUR-YEAR-OLD HOME isn’t working, which I’m just going to assume is God’s way of telling me I should have missed my flight home by shredding my limbs on a moped the way I usually do. 
You can’t mess with God’s plan, is how I'm reading this.

In fact, I'm so sure I'm correct in my analysis that I basically just ignored the problem for two days straight. God will fix it for me, I told myself as I swilled duty-free hooch straight from the bottle in direct contravention of my mid-week liquor fatwa.

By this morning, the hooch had worn off and the temperature had plummeted. At that point, I did what any woman would do: I swore, I flicked the on-off switch, I went downstairs and inspected the tubes and boxes and vents until I had satisfied myself that I hadn't a goddam clue what I was looking at and then I went to work and hoped it would somehow sort itself out while I was away. 
It didn't.

So today will be all about the calling of the serviceman (yes, I said "man" and not "person," please feel free to bite me if you think it might actually be a woman who shows up at my door to fix this monstrosity), the letting of the wallet, the fixing of the furnace and the excoriating of the poor bastard who fixes it: "You tell your boss this thing is a piece of crap! FOUR YEARS OLD, it is!" And quite possibly, another rogering of the fatwa. It's either that or I book another trip to the Bahamas, people. You decide ...