While we're on the topic of toilets...

I FINALLY FIXED MINE!

I affectionately refer to myself as the worst husband in the world. Yeah, first off I don't have a penis and second, I'm not married.  But I act like a lazy husband on the weekends, skillfully ignoring my honey-do list by goofing off or sleeping.

My toilet has been leaking somewhere in the system for months.  I get annoyed with the noise of the trickling when doing my middle of the night bathroom runs.  I was good and finally got around to buying the toilet repair kit a month or more ago.  Whoopie!  Progress!

Since I am taking a 3 day weekend, I have determined I must do something productive and I thought a few of my honey-do tasks would fit the bill.  So far, I've done toenails and brushed out Tuesday and Jack,  I've disassembled Millie's giant cage and replaced that with a normal crate.  I've washed all the dog stuff (crate pads, etc) and swept fur up out of half the house.

Finally I decided I must deal with this damned toilet.  I was getting tired of moving the box from one flat surface to the next, gradually working my way toward the bathroom.  By the time I got it onto the countertop by the toilet, I figured why not?

I hoped it was just the flapper, so I did that first.  What?  What's that sound?  Trickling water?  As my pal Debra says, "Toilet flapper, you can KISS MY ASS!"  Well, actually it wasn't the flapper.  It was the other toilet innard bits.  Sigh.

I need to start an at home business:  interpreting lamely written instruction guides and converting them into something that makes frickin' sense.  I love troubleshooting experiments at work and then writing protocols.  Except that I don't do that any more.  So here's a new niche.

I think there is some great conspiracy to piss innocent homeowners off by making these things completely illogical!  As I went through the instructions, I kept saying--oh, if I were writing this, I'd phrase it this way.  Instruction guide interpreter.  I like that.

Between trying to interpret these lame-o instructions, contorting to get behind the toilet, bruising knuckles and aggravating my fibromyalgia trying to unscrew plastic bolts, I came up with some rather inventive new curse words.  I also spent an inordinate amount of time wandering the house looking for tools.  I thought I was doing well with my Homer Bucket in a pocket riddled skirt.  But not as good as I thought I was!  I'd sell my left nut for a wrench!  If I had one.

It took me a few hours and only one Oh Shiny with Farkle on FaceBook before getting it done.  So far (knock on wood), I don't have any leaks and DEAR DIARY, the damned thing is actually quiet once the tank is full.  By the grace of God, I did not have to remove the tank from the bowl and replace the tube that shuttles water into the bowl.  Whew.

I'm sure that I'll be awoken to a massive geyser of toilet water at about 3 am, but for now I am pleased that the job is done.

Now if I only had a German turd shelf!  Next project, maybe!