Operation Agua

I began my attempts to install the waterline from my basement to my in-fridge ice and water dispenser about two months ago. By begin, I mean I made my dad hole saw thru the floor and then I randomly purchased accoutrements when I remembered in various trips to the store. Last Thursday, I decided enough is enough and in anticipation of Halloween and potential ice needs, I began anew with a trip to Home Depot. (Normally I am Lowe's but we have a gift card.) Operation Agua commence!


My home has a water manifold system and all I wanted on Thursday was:
1) A plastic connector to make the 1/2" pex pipe ($16) that I bought on one of my previous trips for Halloween supplies in order to attach the pex to the port.
2) A reducer/connector to go from 1/2" pex pipe to 1/4" line on the back of my fridge.

Instead, twenty minutes later, I came home with standard plumbing items of the following:
1) 5/8" compression nut with insert $2.77
2) 1/4" compression nut with insert $1.52
3) 5/8" compression nut x 3/8" compression nut both with inserts $4.70
4) 25' of 1/4" poly pipe $6-something

Now, I blame myself partially for not having rechecked the sizes but when he hands me each package after a detailed discussion of what I needed, I left the store and came home full of vim and vigor. Only 3/8" inserts don't fit in 1/4" tubing.

So, I proceed to spend Sunday with the plumbing apprentice aka BS, my boyfriend and every tool we have in the house. Turns out the standard size 5/8" compression nut doesn't actually screw on to the port when you insert the pex into the compression fitting and as we realized this we proceeded to drop it onto the floor and break the nut so I find myself taking a trip to Home Depot to replace the two headed nut and we take the $2.77 loss plus our time plus more gas from my already low tank.

At Home Depot, I return my 5/8"x 3/8" part for store credit and head back to the plumbing aisle. I stare into the boxes of PEX related parts until the man using the threading station notices my bewilderment and proceeds to come to my rescue. Standing there with hands full of all the appropriate parts, I couldn't figure out how I was going to crimp the pipe back at the house..


And lo and behold, Rich, the Home Depot savior, pulls out the crimper..to "show me how it works in theory" and with a wink, continues to make the above, a 1/2" PEX compression fitting (the one on the left) crimped copper ring, PEX pipe link, crimped copper ring to 1/2" male adaptor... swipe the bags and grab a bag of Sour Patch Kids for my mental stress and I am out $9.30 less the $4.70 credit but am a solid hour ahead in work.
We chisel out the wood to fit our new reducer onto the manifold and turn the water on... LEAK! Guess who forgot pipe tape?? So out to Sears Hardware for $1.05 and back to re-connect the pipes and turn the water on.... LEAK! Turns out the 1/4" compression fitting has some sort of issue in the nut that is allowing water thru coupled with my shrinking patience and I find myself holding three pieces for what is a two piece component. Off I go again, back to Sears for a new compression nut and nylon sleeve with insert ($2.63).
It is now 4:00. I have missed the Steelers game, I have installed a new compression fitting and we turn the water back on....
SUCCESS!

Total Spent:
6 hours including driving time and $39.37 not counting gas but I will never need a Brita again.

Hendrika and the House

No, this isn't the title of my new children's book.

This is the story of my friend MC who sent me an email about his recently lost house:

"Ms. Reed,
Do you remember back when you had some issues closing on the house because you're 'people' had screwed up and it caused some delays and some headaches, but ultimately it worked out because you got the house? And I told you that I thought I was good that my guys had already covered some of the issues you had. I felt confident that I would have a smooth settlement. You should be thankful. At least you got the house. At least your 'owner' (I assume this was the builder) was in the same zip code. Hell, at least they were in the same area code. Shit! At least you knew where they were! I cannot claim to know any information as it relates to the location of my seller except to say I don't know where she is. That's right. My seller has been AWOL since Friday, June 26. There was no settlement. There is no house in Prospect Park. I am waiting to receive my deposit back but I can't expect to get my appraisal fee and home inspection money back. Oh yeah. I'm not sure if you'll consider this happening blog-worthy, but at the very least it should be considered for two reasons. The first is that as far as closing on houses go, you have a better track record than someone else you know. The second is that there could be an argument that the reason for my bad luck closing on a house is similar to the bad luck experienced by so many of your friends: my association with you. While I really believe it has more to do with some crazy, Dutch woman whose name may be Hendrika*, I cannot eliminate the obvious connection between my recent bad luck and your usually . . . challenging (right word?) karma.

*On a humorous note, instead of moping around yesterday we went out and looked at 16 houses. Yes, 16 in one day. And we spoke with one realtor and our issue came up. We said, "We had a bad experience with a deal in Prospect that fell through today when the seller left town." She responded, "By chance, was this person's name Hendrika?" We answered, "Yes! How do you know her?" She replied, "I was her agent when she bought that house." Funny how small of a world it is.

Getting back to business, we have decided not to tell anyone (except the absolute must knows like our realtor, mortgage guy, and parents) when the next house will close. We've decided that there's a possibility that someone else's bad karma jinxed us. (And that is not a jab at you. Please note, I have had nothing but generally good luck since I've known you so I think your bad karma thing is a load of hogwash.) In the future, we will send out a note, call, whatever, when we are physically standing in the house with all papers signed and checks cashed. Only then will I feel confident enough to say "I am a homeowner."

Have a wonderful holiday weekend! I'm off to Alaska to get my head clear and start my future.

MC, we wish you the best of luck. Buon viaggio!

I got stuck in an elevator- at Christmas time

So I found this started blog post that I apparently got distracted and never finished (surprised anyone?)... and thought, "Why not share this doozy with the world?" Merry Christmas in April, folks.




This is not a big deal. I kind of like the thought of wasting a day or two in an elevator. But the elevator at our downtown office has never broken on me before. I am not personally claustrophobic so when the woman approached myself and MC, my co-worker, our reaction to her seemingly crazy question of "Does this elevator get stuck often?" was one of almost incredulous, "No... never happened to either of us and we ride it all the time."


**Please note that this was our company's Operation Santa Claus day and that MC was dressed as Santa and I as a too-tall elf (If I can find the picture, I will attach it..)

No sooner did we pack Santa, myself and our new claustrophobic friend into our elevator, than four more ladies joined us. Now, this elevator is rather large and while I run the risk of sounding prejuidiced against the jolly, I have seen many large men pack into this elevator at closing time having apparently eaten their desks before entering. Note that I had not been stuck during these trips with the un-famished. So the 7 of us, ladies chattering away about the luncheon they were heading to, MC and I trying to not sweat to death and our claustrophobic friend headed upward. But between P1 (parking level one) and L (lobby for office), we skipped S (Store level). Dramatically panicking because it had skipped her level, our new friend pounded the buttons as the elevator came to a stop and the doors did not open.

MC has recently been in charge of an elevator contract and tried to begin to explain that it was not a big deal, that we deal with elevators all the time (althought I can see after our first incorrect statement that the elevator never gets stuck, why she might not believe us) and BAM! Claustrophia starts slamming buttons and pounding the door and shouting.

In true time elapse, we might have been stopped for three and a half whole minutes. The ladies all tried to calm her down while MC stood watch over the buttons so she couldn't do anymore damage and I spoke into the speaker. Thirty-five percieved minutes later, we were returning to the parking level where we explained to everyone to follow us and wandered out and around and up the stairs from P1 to S and then where they could find (insert place they were planning to go here).

Lesson learned: Don't allow the claustrophobic lady in the elevator with the bad-luck elf.

Cops and Jury Duty

Question of the Day: "Would you be more likely to believe a police officer testimony because of their job?"

I recently (Tuesday) served my civic duty of jury duty for the City of Brotherly Love. Don't get me wrong here... I enjoyed having the valuable time of my day dedicated to reading magazines I was smart enough to bring while I was shuffled back and forth between uncomfortable wooden pews.

Following a friend's advice, I arrived approximately five minutes late. Apparently, my friend gave this advice to everyone on jury duty that day as there were a plethora of people who had chosen to not quite be on time. I passed thru security with little to no issues and entered Room 101. Finding myself with little understanding of just exactly what was going on here, I grabbed my mini-golf pencil and form 1 & 2 and hustled back to the theatre chairs all the way at the back that meant a little extra leg room. I filled in the information at the top of both sheets, listening for my name to be associated with a juror number (secretly wishing for juror #4)...

Peter Bartlett: I didn't bribe anyone.

Casey Novak: (sarcastically) Nooo... that fifty thousand dollar payment to juror number four was charity.

But alas, just as I began my filling in my answers to the questions on page #1 and #2, I was given the number 6. I had made it all the way to the question with which I started my blog and a flashback started to occur...

***Enter whispy dry ice fumes....

Monday, I am driving thru downtown Philadelphia and find myself at 16th and Chestnut at 1:38PM. I must go approximately 4 city blocks until I enter a covered garage and proceed upstairs to a meeting being held at 2PM. As I pass 16th, the two cars in front of me turn left leaving me the solo driver in my lane for the next block as several cars deep are waiting to turn right on 15th. As I approach the intersection of Chestnut and 15th, three youths streak across the intersection across traffic. Please note I had a green light.

Due to the actions of these fine young men, I now find myself slamming on the brakes. Since they clear the street before I even have the chance to hit them, I now clear the intersection as it turns yellow out of the corner of my eye. I am now stuck at the next light, as lights inevitably change in unison. When the cars behind me advance, I see a cop car pull up behind me and then flash its lights.

Now. The following things are true:

1. I drive a bright red passat.

2. My age is sometimes mistaken and I have been asked unreasonable questions about my age in multiple locations (example: at 22, I was asked if I would be driving soon. True story.)

3. I believe that I am a good driver.

So when I see the lights, I think, "They should have turned at 15th. There is a lot of traffic here and a bus on my right. How are they going to get past?" Naivety.

Folks, they stopped that cop car right there, got out and approached my vehicle. Having had my car broken into twice last year, I actually did not know where my registration and insurance was at first and the lady cop to my left was very curt when she informed me to stop freaking out because I hadn't gotten a ticket yet so my attitude could go a long way towards helping that. Also, I needed to "turn my radio down!" (Note to cops out there: Please do not speak to humans in a tone used for a naughty dog. It tends to bring out the b*tch in all of us). She asked me my age (check the license lady) and asked me if I knew why I was stopped (obviously not given my surprise at your tapping on my window as I sat in traffic) and then I then sat in the left lane blocking traffic until 2:02 when they brought my papers back and told me to have a safe day.

...smoky fog clears****

Do I have any bias towards the Philly Police department who has not shown up to my car break-in and then wasted twenty minutes of my day not writing me a ticket but warning me not to try to hit people who are jaywalking while I have a green light? I think I have done enough jury duty for this city for a while.

Facial schmacial

I have googled bad facial, facial reaction, facial horror stories, and none of these things have shown me that anyone gets reactions that last for days on end...


My doctor, however, informed me of the the two following outcomes that I might experience due to my new cremes:
1. 2-3 days to go away- best case
2. 2-3 weeks to go away- not so best case


Then, like all good medical professionals, he shared the worst case scenario.


***Eerie music... enter fog....



This one time, I had a lady who had beautiful, flawless skin and went and had a bad facial experience...

***oooooOOOOOOooooooohhhhhHHHH***

And she had such bad acne from the facial that I had to put her on Accutane and she even had some facial scarring....

......fade to black******

Alright, listen up medical community. When you have a patient who has as highly active of an imagination as me, please do not tell us we could end up scarred due to one day of pampering in our measly little lives. And if you can't tell if we are highly imaginative, assume the worst.