Jan. 11th, 2014 08:11 pm
"It came in like a waterfall!"
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muckefuckI promised the Old Man demon cock and was as good as my word. When I first queued This is the end, I expected it would be a mid-week destresser for my eyes only. But NetFlix sent us another bad disc, throwing the schedule off, and my first decent opportunity to watch it came today. I didn't expect him to stay till the end; it's not his sort of humour and he only had the very vaguest idea who any of the actors were. But he did, so I suppose he didn't totally hate it. It was pretty much exactly what I'd expected: scatologically hilarious in places, tediously self-indulgent in others, but pretty blaring and simple-minded throughout. And exactly what I needed after a pretty rough twenty-four hours.
I was at work for maybe five minutes before it hit my that my attempts to ward off a cold had failed. I promised myself I'd tough it out until my morning meeting; having succeeded, I determined to tough it out until my afternoon one as well. After that, my resolve failed and after a couple hours of getting practically nothing done, I slipped out to catch an early shuttle home. Only the shuttle never arrived, I stood forty-five minutes in the ice-cold rain only to cram myself into an elbow-to-lumbar version of my usual run, which dropped me off a quarter of an hour late. The sidewalks were, if anything, even worse than I'd predicted, my shoes and slacks soaked through so that there was no point in avoiding even the deepest puddles any more.
When I walked through the door, the very first words from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu were, "It's not as bad as it looks." I was so bleary I couldn't even tell what he was talking about at first. Then I saw the towels wadded up around the kitchen window and my heart sank. He explained how his and Scooter's investigations had turned up a quarter-sized hole in the drainpipe which led to it spewing all down the wall. The grout on the windowframes having long since crumbled away, there was nothing to prevent it from pouring in and seeping out the other side. He'd tried protecting it with some plastic sheeting, but all he had to show for it was another soaked outfit hanging in the bathroom.
So rather than crashing, I relieved him in his rounds, stopping every fifteen minutes or so to wring out all the towels again and empty the bucket in downstairs hallway. Eventually I got the idea to line the clothes hamper with a trash bag, which bought us enough time that after eleven I could crash for a few hours. By two o'clock, this was dangerously full so there I was, bailing it into the bucket with a plastic beer stein and then emptying it outside. Five times. I was so drained afterwards that, paradoxically, I couldn't fall back asleep for another couple of hours.
Of course, there was no question of me making the opera with Nuphy at this point. (Frankly that'd been iffy from the start of the morning.) To my relief, he'd found someone to take the ticket (someone who wasn't Mr Suicide, the only taker my last-minute Facebook plea had netted), though it would be quite some time before I'd find this out. I awoke early to find the water slowed to a trickle and everything well in hand, giving me licence to collapse until midmorning. Tonight a freeze is predicted, so tomorrow we might find ourselves going through this all again. And with no demon cock to reward ourselves with afterwards!
I was at work for maybe five minutes before it hit my that my attempts to ward off a cold had failed. I promised myself I'd tough it out until my morning meeting; having succeeded, I determined to tough it out until my afternoon one as well. After that, my resolve failed and after a couple hours of getting practically nothing done, I slipped out to catch an early shuttle home. Only the shuttle never arrived, I stood forty-five minutes in the ice-cold rain only to cram myself into an elbow-to-lumbar version of my usual run, which dropped me off a quarter of an hour late. The sidewalks were, if anything, even worse than I'd predicted, my shoes and slacks soaked through so that there was no point in avoiding even the deepest puddles any more.
When I walked through the door, the very first words from
monshu were, "It's not as bad as it looks." I was so bleary I couldn't even tell what he was talking about at first. Then I saw the towels wadded up around the kitchen window and my heart sank. He explained how his and Scooter's investigations had turned up a quarter-sized hole in the drainpipe which led to it spewing all down the wall. The grout on the windowframes having long since crumbled away, there was nothing to prevent it from pouring in and seeping out the other side. He'd tried protecting it with some plastic sheeting, but all he had to show for it was another soaked outfit hanging in the bathroom.So rather than crashing, I relieved him in his rounds, stopping every fifteen minutes or so to wring out all the towels again and empty the bucket in downstairs hallway. Eventually I got the idea to line the clothes hamper with a trash bag, which bought us enough time that after eleven I could crash for a few hours. By two o'clock, this was dangerously full so there I was, bailing it into the bucket with a plastic beer stein and then emptying it outside. Five times. I was so drained afterwards that, paradoxically, I couldn't fall back asleep for another couple of hours.
Of course, there was no question of me making the opera with Nuphy at this point. (Frankly that'd been iffy from the start of the morning.) To my relief, he'd found someone to take the ticket (someone who wasn't Mr Suicide, the only taker my last-minute Facebook plea had netted), though it would be quite some time before I'd find this out. I awoke early to find the water slowed to a trickle and everything well in hand, giving me licence to collapse until midmorning. Tonight a freeze is predicted, so tomorrow we might find ourselves going through this all again. And with no demon cock to reward ourselves with afterwards!
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no subject
I would have attributed at least some of that, perhaps, to your more high-brow tastes in movies. But "This Is the End" kind of blew a hole in that theory...
no subject
When we were having all that trouble with the highbrow Korean film, one of the NetFlix reps explained that many of the foreign discs are cheaply made and can't stand up to the rigours of USPS processing. Plus, since there's less demand, they buy fewer and replace them more rarely in comparison with major Hollywood releases.