Oh the joys of homeownership. The American Dream. Maybe sometimes.
So you see, since we moved into our newish/old house there has been an old, rusty, stained, nasty toilet sitting in our 3rd garage stall. It was from the house, pre-construction, and used to sit in the basement. And when I say old, I mean this sucker was old, like 1912 old. The toilet had long since been removed, and for some reason, was sitting in this garage.
I was cleaning this past weekend, and finally got sick of seeing the nasty toilet sitting in the garage. After researching ways to get rid of an old toilet, and realizing that this may be the only thing in the world that will not be claimed on "Craig's List FREE", I decided we needed to get this outta here.
Note: "I decided WE should get this outta here".
And so I called my dad and asked what to do. We couldn't figure out what to do with the toilet. He suggested that we bring it to an apartment building we own, and utilize the dumpster there. Great. Let's do that.
Uh, turns out toilets are heavy. And akward. And disgusting. We somehow manage to get this sucker out of the garage and lift it into the back of my SUV. Yes, just the two of us.
We drive to the apartment building, a few blocks away from our house. I was freaking out all along the way, convinced there was old doo-doo water leaking into the trunk of my car. Jeremy was not as convinced. Note, it was not his car.
We arrive and realize it is the type of dumpster where you have to lift up the lid, like the one below.
We develop a plan in which we will lift the toilet up, and once we get it to the lid, I will shimmy my shoulder under the lid of the dumpster and Jeremy will quickly push the toilet into the dumpster. That was the plan.
We lift the nasty 100 year old toilet out of the car, and over to the dumpster. We lift it up, feeling pretty proud of ourselves.
We get it above our heads, I start with the shoulder under the lid plan, and the toilet breaks in half.
Yes, the 100 year old toilet breaks in half, and lo and behold, there's liquid inside. Extraordinarily old you-know-what water leaks out and all over my legs and shoes.
I want to scream, cry, and drop the toilet, but I know that will only delay the situation. The situation which is Jeremy and Kara, holding a 100 year old broken-in-half toilet over our heads.
Jeremy looks at me and says, "Are you okay?"
I cannot formulate words and so instead I scream at the top of my lungs. Yes, scream at the top of my lungs.
With nothing more than sheer disgust and adrenaline we manage to push the rest of the toilet into the dumpster. Toilet free from our hands, I look down, and see my soaked pants and shoes, full of you-know-what water.
What's a girl to do?
Take off her pants.
Yes, right then and there, in the apartment building parking lot, I just had to take them off. I had underwear on people, its basically like a swimsuit then. And so I ran, without my pants on, back to the car, screaming all the way home. Yes, literally screaming. Jeremy as my witness.
Home ownership, it's the American Dream.