I wrote about our plumbing, the boring kind not the fun naughty bits of plumbing, and it heard my hubris. When the plumber left, the shower was working swell and I wrongfully assumed the clog had been released. Alas, it was not meant to be.

We Costco’d what felt like all day long. Actually, we hit the Northern Cali, suburban hell trifecta — Costco, an Asian supermarket and Target. The cliched perfect storm of my hatred for humanity. I’m thinking of advocating for a complete cell phone ban at all Costco stores nationwide, maybe in a five-mile radius. It’s the only solution for assholes wandering aimlessly and stopping every foot or so in their meanderings around Costco’s wide, but not wide enough, aisles whilst chatting pointlessly.

Fully groceried and toilet papered ready to hunker down in our beachside Shangri la with a big Sunday dinner, the plumbing skunked us. The kitchen sink immediately made it clear whatever clog the plumber freed in the shower was not enough to get the bathroom-kitchen sink continuum back in their separate grooves.

Fucking hell. Suburbs and sunny skies and lemon trees. But, hell. Fucking plumbing.

Technorati Tags: California, mortgage, moving, real_estate