a cavalcade of wtf and r u serious?

Oh, kids. So much to relate. So much to complain about.

Went to the Sox game last night. What fun is sitting in right field if Nancy isn't playing and therefore you cannot scream abuse at him or chuck something at his stupid head and be dragged from the ballpark? I ask you. I did swear, when he came up to pinch hit, that if he got a home run, I would not say one bad thing about him the rest of the year. You know how *that* turned out. Seriously? Three consecutive pinch hitters, zero hits? Really?

The "high" point of the game, besides the on-field shenanigans that is, was the group of international students sitting directly behind us. I was contemplating whether choking the giggling, incredibly loud, incredibly shrill Asian girl whose voice probably makes dogs ears bleed (poor puppies) would get me thrown out as quickly as pegging Nancy with a cup of beer and decided not to take a chance. It was bad enough that her friend asked me twice within five minutes of my sitting down to pick up things she had dropped into our row or when all of the girls managed to smack me in the back of the head with their purses at least once in their endless getting up and down and exchanging seats or when one of the boys (British) said he'd figured out all the "anagrams" other than what RBI stood for, but that girl's earsplitting voice was a whole nother level of WTF. If you are too loud in a baseball stadium? You, madam, are too fucking loud.

Meanwhile, I had texted my son during the game and after, and he didn't respond. So I called him and it went to voicemail. I was mildly concerned. He sleeps with his phone next to him, so normally he answers even if he's asleep. I get home and he is in my bathroom. He says he feels sick to his stomach. I give him some Pepto and kick him out so I can pee before I go to bed, but when I'm done, he wants to go back and sit in there. (Why isn't he sitting on his own toilet? you ask. Well, do you remember how I told you that occasionally he will actually clog a toilet with his massive dumps? His toilet hadn't been flushing really well since the last time that happened and while I tried a plethora of home remedies on it, I'd asked him to only do #2 upstairs. If you are grossing out already, you might want to skip ahead. This story gets more disgusting, bodily-waste-wise.)

I wake up this morning early to the sounds of toilets being flushed both downstairs and upstairs. He is in my bathroom. He says he still feels sick. I go downstairs and in his bathroom there is: a discarded pair of shorts on the floor, what appears to be a bit of vomit on the rug in front of the toilet, and waste, both formed and liquidy, in the toilet. You know? The toilet that isn't supposed to be pooped in? Saying many bad words, I wipe up the vomit, put the dirty bath rug in the washer, and fish the solids and toilet paper out of the toilet with the fucking toilet brush into a plastic bag (which then goes out into the garbage immediately) because I *know* that ain't gonna flush. I go back upstairs and ask through the door what's going on in there. D says sorry about downstairs, but he couldn't make it upstairs in time. I ask if he's still going. He says "a little." I ask him to let me know when I can come in and use my toilet. I hear flushing and then, panicked, "Mom! It's overflowing!" 15 towels later, my bathroom floor is no loner covered with poopy water, but the toilet is full.

D says, and this is an almost verbatim quote, "I don't know what's wrong. I haven't gone in like three weeks and now I can't stop." WTF. WTF. You have not gone in *three* weeks and you didn't think to be alarmed? You didn't think to, y'know, mention it? I point out, with as much patience as I have left at 6:30 in the morning with two plugged up toilets, a mound of poopy towels, and the inability to void my own bladder, that if one hasn't done #2 in a week, one should probably try to take action to correct that.

I go downstairs and try to flush that toilet. It overflows. Fifteen more towels. I manage, however, to plunge it out such that it's flushing completely normally. This load of massive poop apparently pushed through the load of massive poop that was slightly blocking it for the past number of weeks. D has come downstairs and is in his bed. I tell him the good news. And slightly more calmly try to impress upon him that if he is having constipation issues, which I am sure are due to all his meds, he needs to mention that to his prescribing physicians. And that if you are not going at least every other day or so, that's a problem. (Is it my failure as a parent that my adult child *didn't* realize that you're supposed to go more than once a week and certainly more than once every three weeks? Sigh.)

Then I go upstairs and successfully plunge out that toilet. All my toilets are now working perfectly. They have both only been partially cleaned, however, until I am sure the poop extravaganza is 100% done. But at least it doesn't look like Trainsspotting in either bathroom now. And every towel in my entire house has been washed on the highest heat available. Sigh. R U serious?

=========>>>>It's safe for the weak-stomached to read again!

Meanwhile, in amongst the many loads of laundry, I hear the mail truck on our street and then I hear my doorbell. I open my front door to find a cardboard box from Amazon sitting there, being rained upon. In the 90 seconds it took for me to get there, it's already kinda soggy. Guess what's in it, boys and girls? Yup, you know. My son's birthday present. The netbook.

Yes, indeed, the USPS did leave a box containing a brand new computer out in the pouring rain, completely unprotected by plastic or shelter from the elements. If I had not been home to open that door within 90 seconds, I can only imagine the consequences. But I suppose people who opt for free super saving shipping deserve to have their electronics involved in a game of damage roulette, eh? Double. You. Tee. Eff. R U serious?

Lastly? The "g" key on *this* laptop is sticking, so if you see any typos I missed, be mentally forgiving. It's been a tough 18 hours.

xoxo

Addendum:

For reference


Addendum2:

Oh, I had signed up to get a tracking text when D's netbook was going to be delivered. I just got it, saying it was out for delivery. That's 2 1/2 hours after the USPS left it out in the rain. Oh, so helpful that was.