Going to pot.

For the past, oh, six years, we’ve had this problem where all of our toilets are either running or overflowing or dripping at any given time. We take turns pretending like we don’t hear them, so we won’t have to be the one to get up off our ass to perform the requisite clinking. I’ve even trained untitledson how to clink a toilet, which, I must say, is quite developmentally advanced for a child his age.

Now before I get too far into this, let me just say that going to the bathroom is no fun at all when you have to lord over your kill and make sure that all the remnants and whatnot flush down properly. I can’t remember the last time I went to the bathroom, flushed the toilet and simply walked away. No, in our household, each toilet visit is followed by re-flushing or clinking or god forbid, emergency plunging.

The upside to all this nastiness is that our toilet issues have proved to be a decent cardiovascular workout for me. Few things make me move faster than chunky debris cascading over the toilet lip (except for the time when untitledson pooped in the bath and he thought it was a tub toy).

In an effort to undertake the repairs, untitledhusband dug deep and found his inner Vila (which, as it turns out, had been smothered into submission by his collection of over-priced hair product and his snappy looking Diesel tennies). Grappling his manhood in one hand and a monkey wrench in the other, he undertook the job of replacing our toilet innards. “How hard could it be?” he said.

Now let me go on record as saying that if a project requires anything more complicated than a screwdriver or an Allen wrench, in our case, it is just best to call a professional. For in his efforts to properly tighten a bolt or a nut or a screw or something, he managed to crack the toilet tank in half.

After years of withstanding untitledmother’s nuclear blasts, my bout with food poisoning (Olive Garden, for those interested), and untitledbrother-in-law’s bunker busters (which he will drive 15 miles out of his way just to drop at our house), the turlet is done in by a simple turn of the screw.

For the amount this project is costing, we could’ve easily hired a handyman to do the job several times over. But since I love untitledhusband (and the fact that I am going to need his spermies in about one week), I will refrain from bringing this point up. I may not understand compound interest, how to work my voicemail properly or the popularity of the Wiggles. But I do understand a man’s need to be able to say he fixed his own shitter.

9 thoughts on “Going to pot.”

  1. Buy a European toilet. Back in the States, E-Man replaced all the toilet guts in our 10-year-old house. When we still had to babysit the toilets to make sure they behaved, he replaced ALL of them with Kohler ones. No relief. The delicate little E-Grrrl plugged the toilets at least once a week. We had the pipes snaked, the septic tank pumped, etc. Then moved to Belgium. The bathrooms in our house here are UGLY but those toilets do the job right.

  2. Well…good try untitledhusband. I would say the next step would be to hover over the plumber saying ‘I see you chose the Terrenflipperstrudel to tighten in the liftenhuggencatcher….nice choice’.

  3. We have a pot with a vacuum assist. Dear Husband and Dear Son still manage to stop it up occasionally, but over all it’s pretty satisfactory.

    Oh, and in the south we don’t clink, we jiggle our toilets. As in, “Git in there raht now and jigguhl that handuhl! Cain’t chew hear that toe-let runnin?”

  4. This reminds me of a time when we had a guest stay over at our newly purchased condo in Los Angeles. He had his guest bathroom, and we had our own bathroom. Well 24 hours into his stay, we saw him run down the hall to use OUR bathroom. Strange, I thought. It turned out he plugged up our NEW toilet to the point where my husband had to buy The Snake to fix it. The guest didn’t say boo about the plug-up once during his 5 day stay. Nice, huh?

  5. Remids me of the episide of King of the Hill where they had to install “low flow” toilets. Then it took 7 flushes to get the floaters down. And Bobby says “Mom, you should have done 8”.

  6. Mel: ROTFLMAO!

    We just went through something similar at our house.. long story short, new toilet in the upstairs bathroom.. a very swanky, elongated bowl, Kohler.

    We go flushy, flushy. Poop go downy, downy! It’s all good.

  7. Try an American Standard Champion toilet … man, those things are great! One simple flush … whoosh. And they never run on and on. I have put them in all 18 of my motel rooms.

  8. I have to tell you, I am so impressed by the technospeak I am learning here! I never knew that the official word for jiggling the toilet handle was to “clink” it (see Mel’s post to figure out where I live), and I always thought the word was spelled “terlet”, but to my everlasting amazement, I find it is spelled “turlet”. Makes sense, considering it shares the first three letters of another word that routinely goes bowling there. I’m still trying to figure out what size Terrenflipperstrudel you have to use to tighten in the liftenhuggencatcher, but I think I’m catching onto this. Dayum, I’m enjoying this! Great blog!

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