Why yes, you can snake my toilet.

I’m not at work today because I’ve been waiting for the plumber. Two months of sleeping on the kitchen floor right next to the bathroom made me realize just how badly my toilet smelled. Like, real bad. And since getting a plumber in here means calling the landlesbian, and having a conversation that’s heavy on the crazy, I put it off for a while. But it’s January, the month where you get things done that you’ve been putting off, so I finally called in the problem. I was told to be home between 8:00 and noon on Wednesday morning.

Okay, I take the proper time off work, go to swimming, and get back to the house at 7:45. Sitting and waiting. Thinking about a topic to maybe write about? Maybe about how I only have two days left of being in my 20’s, and there really isn’t anything that I can do that’s good enough to mark that occasion. It’s like the year 2000, where I met up with some friends in Georgetown and we wandered around looking for a party, and then it was over. As far as I can tell, I’m not really minding turning 30 at all. But I feel like I shouldn’t just let this time slip by unnoticed. Everything feels like it should be monumental. For instance, if I pass gas, I want to announce, “That was the last fart of my 20’s!” (Until, of course, I do it again 20 minutes later.)

There’s just nothing that noteworthy going on. I’m just sitting in my kitchen, waiting for the plumber, drinking tea and trying to fight off a mild cold because I’m certain that I’m not supposed to have a cold for this milestone. As I’m zoning out thinking of the best way to mark time, I get a phone call.

“This is Noelle.”

“This is the plumber. You are not at home.”

“I am at home.” (Looks around, confirms that this is my kitchen, this is my cat, this is my broken toilet…) “I am at home. I’ve been here for almost two hours.”

“I came by at 8:45 and there was not a person here.”

“Were you at the cottage?”

“I knock on the door of the blue house.”

“Yes, but I live in the white house.”

“Oh, okay, I come back.”

But why did he go away in the first place? I mean, if he’s got a cell phone, couldn’t he have just called from the driveway? Even though they were the ones who didn’t fix it properly in the first place, who am I to question the ways of those with the skills needed to fix my toilet? So I go back to zoning out. This time, thinking about politics. Specifically, about the fact that I promised myself not to get behind a candidate during the primaries. I’m still not over the heatbreak that was Howard Dean. Hell, I’m still not over the heatbreak that was Bill Bradly, or Robert Kennedy Jr., and that’s only because I saw it on the Brokaw special. Yet, yet, I can’t help it. I fell for Obama, and I let myself get happy when he won in Iowa. Now Clinton’s mucked up the works. As much as I am a fan of an even race, and the fact that my state’s vote may actually make the difference, and my candidate wasn’t chosen by a handful of folks in Iowa, I really was upbeat about the massive lead he was supposed to have. Oh well. At least my congresswoman is cool.

Oh, so that’s what I was thinking about while waiting for the phone to ring again. It does, and I go out to the driveway to meet the plumber with the heavy accent, who can’t find the cottage.

But hold the phone. The company has not sent me a plumber. They have sent me a male model with a plunger. It’s like the landlesbian called a stripper or something. So maybe THIS is how I’m ringing in 30? With Julio, the world’s best looking plumber with an accent that has instantly gone from stupid to motherfuckingsexy? Seriously, when he bent over, he didn’t have plumber’s crack, he had designer underpants. And instantly, I felt really, really stupid for not cleaning my bathroom inside and out before he arrived. Usually, I never do since plumbers leave such a mess, there’s no point. But now I’ve got Julio, and I really don’t want him to see the toilet paper that won’t completely flush down, and the sink that still has last week’s toothpaste in it. So I’m sitting here blogging, trying to keep my cool and wondering if I can slyly get a picture of him for you fine folks. No such luck.

The world’s hottest plumber just finished fixing my wax seal and snaking my main line. We chat a little about soccer. Turns out he broke his ankle once, too. He flashed a smile as I signed his paperwork. He has perfect teeth. This plumber is out of my league. But he has my cell phone number. And I his. Is it just me, or does my kitchen sink look a little clogged to you?

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25 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by nancypearlwannabe on January 9, 2008 at 12:17 pm

    I have never, ever encountered a hot plumber. Also, was it odd to have him in your place with your mattress laid out in the kitchen? Like you were getting it ready to just throw him down to the floor when he came in? I think you might have missed your chance, Noelle.

    I can’t seem to get in touch with my friends who lent me the mattress, so perhaps it will still be there by the time I call him back.

  2. Fantastic post! I think I might have a clog in my drain. Think Julio would make a road trip to Rochester? That is, if you can let him out of your grip?

    Oh, but he’s the one with the oh-so-strong grip…

  3. How many times do I need to remind you that I have singledom seniority? Hand over the phone number like a good friend.

    First come, first serve, all’s fair…

  4. Were you lying seductively on the mattress in the kitchen while he worked in the bathroom? While holding your camera?

    I’m much more subtle. I sat at the kitchen table, blogging about him.

  5. Accept for the daydream about politics, this had Penthouse Forum written all over it. (Do girls get that reference?) Without the climax (pun? yes, please) and resolution, of course.

    I’d say it’s time to see if the Sunday Times will really go down in one flush and get Julio’s sweet ass back over there.

    I totally get the reference, and appreciate your dating advice.

  6. Sounds like a pretty good way to ring in your 30th year, if you ask me.

    It’ll do.

  7. whoa…. hot plumber snaking your mainline? 30 is dirty!

    I may now have a budding writing career in soft-core erotica.

  8. A hot plumber is every woman’s dream! The plumber my super uses actually has a lazy eye. It really could not be worse.

    Lazy eye = dealbreaker.

  9. Did you notice if there was a ring on his finger?

    If not, do the super liberal woman of the 21st century thing and call him up…The worst that could happen is he will laugh. If he says no, you never have to see him again…Unless your sewer backs up. 🙂

    There was no ring. I am forward enough to call a guy, but this guy is disturbingly good looking.

  10. Must be a present that only you almost-thirty girls get – because I’m still a twenty-something and all I get are old dudes with crack. Boo!

    Or maybe it’s just us lucky chicks in the Hudson Valley!

  11. Ha! I was just telling my husband that I’ve been putting off calling a plumber because I don’t like their butts.

    You should have stolen his wrench when he wasn’t looking. Then he’d have a reason to come back.

    Do you have a garbage disposal? Carrot peelings in excess will clog it every time. Then you can steal his wrench.

    No garbage disposal. I think I’m going with flushing the NY Times.

  12. This actually reminds me of the time that the two stewardesses and I…no, wait, I’m sorry, that never actually happens in reality. Nor does a hot, foreign plumber showing up at a two-days-from-thirty lady’s cottage. Call this gentleman back for additional “work”! Do not blow this opportunity twice, Christmas Tree!

    Oh, I will blow this opportunity twice, Ace!

  13. I think hot plumber with an accent is a totally valid choice as your rebound fling. It’s all in the name of healing, really. You owe this to yourself.

    There is no better time to date someone that you don’t really need to talk to.

  14. The world’s hottest plumber just finished fixing my wax seal and snaking my main line.
    Hmm, now that sounds…. and yes you should’ve got a picture. And there was yr. 30th b-day present staring you in the face. sorry couldn’t help myself.
    nice post!

    He he!

  15. Your next post better involve you telling us all about calling him last night… 🙂

    I didn’t, but don’t worry, I did go out and practice my social life. Perhaps that will turn into a story. We’ll have to see…

  16. The last fart of your twenties. HAHAHAHA

    Your hot plumber reminds me of the hot Indian Food delivery guy I have here at work. The place has great food, but whenever you order, it doesn’t matter HOW soon you call after they open (11:30), the food absolutely WILL NOT show up before 1:30…most of the time 2. Which is really annoying…until you go out to collect the bag of goods and pay the delivery guy and you see…the hottest Indian Food Delivery Guy Ever To Walk the Earth. He’s exquisite. Tall dark and handsome- check. Brilliant smile- check. Perfect teeth- check. He always gets a huge tip, even though it took 2 hours to bring the food, because I just can’t help myself.

    So if you’re ever in Baltimore- India Tandoor. You won’t regret it.

    You had me at Indian Food. I’ve had such a craving for weeks!

  17. My last plumber was a very large, very scruffy Harley-loving dude with a ponytail. I am jealous of your plumbing luck!

    (Though I did enjoy it when this huge, scary-looking guy suddenly picked up one of my cats and started baby-talking him. Hee.)

    That’s a great image! I love tough guys with soft spots for cats.

  18. Hmmm. I may have a business proposition for Julio.

  19. Definitely go after the hot plumber. He’s already seen your messy bathroom and done home repairs for you. It’s like you’re in a relationship already!

  20. stupid to motherfuckingsexy

    I think you should pitch that to Bravo as a new reality series. It’s much better than most of what they have been cranking out since Project Runway.

    It is amazing that you had the female equivalent of the “pizza delivery to the sorority house” scenario. Something that seems mythical but every so often really happens.

  21. Posted by EvilKate on January 10, 2008 at 4:17 pm

    call him up! you’ve waited the requisite day. call! you can entitle the call, “one last chance I took in my 20s”

    or, you know, break the toilet again and hope it’s him, not some burley scary man that answers the door with you in nothing but a t-shirt because “oops, I didn’t expect you so soon!”

  22. I’m convinced that three and a half hours of the four-hour window these people give you are spent hiding in the bushes outside your house, laughing and pointing at you every time you look out the window to see if they’re pulling up.

  23. You absolutely must call the plumber. A frivolous fling with a man named Julio who has perfect teeth AND an accent! What could be a better way to ring in 30! So, if you’re too shy, clog the disposal or put gum in your shower faucet (I have no idea what this effect might be – I just now thought of it) – but just do whatever it takes. . . (and report back on your progress).

  24. […] the door working.  The only option was to call the emergency handyman, who is a nice guy, but no Julio.  He came over in a jif, but then spent a full hour re-doing my hinges, sanding my threshold and […]

  25. […] was to Micki what Julio was to my toilet, and now she’s much friskier, and so am […]

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