Chances are, water will not KILL YOU

[*Note: I started this post last week, and it refers to events from last weekend, not this past weekend. I've had a hard time finishing posts lately, obviously.]

So, here I was last [Sunday] night, coming off a very pleasant weekend. On Friday, I went to happy hour with some work folks, and the RWBF hung out with us for a while before leaving for the great midwestern north for the weekend. I came home after happy hour and got some much-needed rest.

On Saturday, I went with my friend Paul to a bar to watch the OSU/Michigan game. Shortly after we arrived, I looked over to the other side of the bar, and there, of all people, was Mr. Exclusive But Casual. This was a very odd coincidence--this was only the second time I'd ever been to this particular bar, I'd never been there with Mr. EBC, I'd never heard him mention this bar, and it wasn't particularly close to either of our houses. But, here we were. You'd think it would have been awkward, right? I mean, we hadn't seen each other since a very abrupt and sloppy breakup, OVER THE PHONE, no less, and we hadn't spoken since. It had been about six weeks, and since then, lots has happened, including, obviously, the RWBF. It was a strange situation to find myself in.

Believe it or not, it wasn't bad. We eventually made eye contact, and he came right over, smiling and being perfectly pleasant. We chatted for a while, caught up, etc., and it was surprisingly not awkward. I didn't see any reason to NOT be friendly--it's not like I hate the guy or anything, and it was good to talk to him again. We even started talking, if obliquely, about why we broke up, what happened, etc., and it was good to get it out. As the day wore on, though, and we continued talking off and on, our motives started to diverge. It was like, I was thinking, "Hmm, he really is an interesting guy, fun to talk to--it would be good to be friends with him," and he was thinking, "Hmm, I'm starting to get drunk, she's looking cute, and her boyfriend is out of town--maybe I can get her to go home with me." (And no, I'm not being presumptuous; his later words and actions verified that this was, in fact, what he was thinking.) So, I wound up having to shoot down Mr. EBC, but he took it well, and he even texted me later to apologize for hitting on me. There you go--closure at last.

So, Sunday evening rolls around. I'm relaxing, having some dinner--tomato basil bisque soup from Trader Joe's, along with some really good Italian bread with olive oil and parmesan, which is for dipping in the soup. That, a glass of wine, and a DVD of the last episodes of The Sopranos--a perfect evening, yes? And so it was, until. . . .

At one point, I heard, all of a sudden, what sounded like a downpour of rain, and I thought a storm must have sprung up out of nowhere. Then, I had a realization. You know that scene in "When a Stranger Calls" when the cop tells the babysitter, "The call is coming from inside the house!"? Well, I realized that this was where that noise was coming from. Inside the house. My house.

I ran up the stairs to the sight of water pouring out from under the bathroom sink, covering the bathroom floor, and running out of the bathroom and down the very stairs I was running up. I turned around and ran to the basement--water shooting out of every pipe in sight, showering down everywhere. By the time I got back up to the kitchen (which is under the bathroom), water was pouring out of the light fixtures.

I'd like to think I can handle situations like this, since I live alone and these things do happen in life. Unfortunately, it took me about 30 seconds to get absolutely hysterical. I figured I had to turn off some water valve in the basement, but I had no idea which one. So, I'm on the phone with the RWBF, then my cousin, both of whom tried to guide me to the main water pipe. I'm running around the increasingly wetter basement, clutching the phone, getting hysterical, shutting off every valve I can find--no change. I couldn't remember where the landlord's number was. Finally, I called the fire department.

While waiting on the fire department and panicking, I went over to the neighbors' (this would be the new hippie neighbors--more on them later) to see if they had the landlord's number. They wound up saving the day. They came over, and the guy ran upstairs and turned off the valves under the bathroom sink. That did it--the water stopped. At that moment, the fire department arrived. Four guys came in decked out in full-on fire-fighting gear; one of them even had an axe. So now I had to explain to the fire fighters that everything was O.K. The neighbors were still there, these guys were in my living room, the animals were going nuts and running around, water was trickling out of the kitchen into the dining room, and, at that moment, the landlord called.

It was quite an eventful evening.

Anyway, everything is all cleaned up now, and no serious damage was done. A pipe had burst under the bathroom sink, and it's been replaced. As it turns out, I don't even have access to the main water pipe, so it wasn't just a matter of me being an idiot and not being able to find it in the basement. And at least I was home--that could have been a real disaster if I hadn't been. As it was, it was just kind of embarrassing.