No, Really, I am NOT in a 70's Musical Time Warp No Matter What My Friend Jeff Says

......sewage explosion in basement + in-laws in living room = not a lot of time to blog....

Well, I don't know what the weather is like in your part of the world these days, but here in the geographical east/west center of the darkest pits of Canada it has been nothing but rain rain rain for days and days on end. It's so stinking horrible and, I'll be honest here, it has made me crankier than a prettily-frocked bride knee-deep in cow dung. Listen up, Weather Gods, I don't care if we're the stupid breadbasket of the world and the crops shrivel up and dry, as far as I'm concerned everyone can do Atkins next year and carb-starve, just BRING ON THE BLOODY DROUGHT ALREADY!!! NOW!! NOW!! NOW!!!

ha ha.

I would apologize for my foul temper, but most of you who read this are from the same wet and dreary locale as me and will, I know, sympathize. When things are damp and gloomy outside, things become damp and gloomy inside too, and you basically go around wanting to kill everyone. This becomes especially true on buses, especially inner-city buses traveling downtown. Dripping wet, mentally ill men steam up the windows, fart and tell the same stupid jokes that, like mosquitoes, always pop up after a long period of endless rain.

Mentally ill man: (Loudly, after 5 minutes of muttered obscenities): Heh heh. What do Winnipeg and Cher have in common then? Heh? Heh?

All other passengers, including other mentally ill ones: (Unspoken, but because of the collective nature of the plea, pretty audible nonetheless) Oh God, please don't make him look at me, please don't make him look at me.....

Mentally ill man: THEY'RE BOTH NOT FUCKING SUNNY!!!! (Wheezily laughs for the rest of the bus ride.)

All other passengers, perhaps especially the other mentally ill ones: (No words. Wistful looks out of window at independent, single passenger car owners.)

But the worse part about continuous rain is not the damp bus rides spent sitting under moist armpits and cursing your maker for giving you olfactory nerves. No, the worst part is when the radio stations start cranking out those damn miserable rain tunes. Yes, those ones. You know what I mean.

I've done an independent scientific review of this, and I've determined it takes exactly three days of wet weather for those clever DJs to start rolling 'em out onto the airwaves. It's always the same ones. Karen Carpenter curled up in the closet, sawing at her wrist with a sharp- edged, heavily caloric cheese curl, miserably confessing that rainy days and Mondays always get her down; Stevie Nicks warning us to prepare for the worst and stock up on toilet paper because it's raining and that's when all the thunder happens; Annie Lennox and her smooth alto telling us coolly that the rain is coming again and that it's "tearing through her head like a new emotion." I'm wondering if that's kind of like being torn a new asshole: Painful, yet somehow character building. (Annie Lennox seems tough, with a strong and sure personality, so I think the answer to that is "yes.")

The songs that really piss me off the most though are the cheery ones, the Singing in the Rain false optimism tunes that just make me want to go and kick someone in the soggy nuts. The Supertramp Rain Song drives me around the bend, and not just because I've heard it at least 4,876, 756 more times than has been deemed healthy by the World Health Organization. I mean, have you listened to the lyrics? No? I'll give you the two best lines and rest my case:

"Come on you little fighter! No need to get uptighter!"

Uptighter?

One song they never play is BJ Thomas's "Raindrops are Falling on my Head." Even Winnipeg DJs are too cool for that. The song has been running through my mind a lot this week though because, darn it, I just can't help being the cheerful, happy-go-lucky optimist that I am. Despite all the crap that has happened around here lately, I find myself smiling all the time and I JUST CAN'T STOP. It's so weird.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothin' seems to fit
Those
Raindrops keep fallin' on my head they keep fallin'

Last Thursday, it was the contents of our basement pipes that got too big for their bed. As a result, piles and piles of steaming poo burst forth in a big, melodramatic Shakespearean swoon all over our lower level floor. It was so horrible, I thought I was going to die.

So I just did me some talking to the sun
And I said I didn't like the way he got things done
Sleeping on the job
Those
Raindrops keep fallin' on my head they keep fallin'

The house smelled like a big stinky poo barn, and I was beside myself with unhappiness. The cold crappy weather just intensified the situation. Basically we had two choices:

1. Turn off the heat, open all the windows to air out the smell and freeze to death.

2. Keep the heat on with the windows closed and asphyxiate on the poo fumes.

It's times like these when one must be thankful for the little things in life, like a big strong male who can take control of everything. I stared at Mr. IQ's unsuspecting back fondly, and then, placing my arm firmly on his shoulder, said, "I'm going to leave all this in your competent hands darling." Then I packed up the kids, grabbed our toothbrushes and headed off to my parents for the night. "See you," were my parting words, "call me when everything is under control."

But there's one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me won't defeat me

When I got to my parents, there was already a message from Mr. IQ lying on the counter. "This is so gross, I'm dying," it said. I phoned back immediately.

"Look, you're not dying," I said. Then I hung up and sank down with a comfortable sigh on the couch with my book.

It won't be long 'til happiness steps up to greet me
Raindrops keep fallin' on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Cryin's not for me

Mr. IQ spent the night shoveling shit. The next morning as the kids and I were eating bacon, eggs and warm cinnamon buns, he went out and purchased eight bottles of bleach to disinfect the floors. As he told the story later, he had gotten his second wind and was feeling pretty motivated. Bleach in hand, he charged down to the basement, dumped a bunch of it on the floor and immediately found himself overwhelmed by the fumes. Staggering upstairs, he managed to find the phone and gave me another ring.

"I just about died!" he said.

"Nyats oo wad," I said, my mouth full of bacon. (I was trying to say "that's too bad.")

"DIED!"

"Well, calm down, you seem pretty alive now," I said clearly, having swallowed my bacon.

"I HATE THIS!!"

Cryin's not for me 'cause
I'm never going to stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothin's worryin' me

It was pretty obvious I was going to have to be a little more encouraging, if for no other reason than because my breakfast was getting cold.

"Uh, come on, you little fighter," I said, "no need to get uptighter!"

[Musical trumpet interlude]

Mr. IQ hung up the phone.

It won't be long 'til happiness steps up to greet me

I finished my book while my lovely parents looked after the kids. It was rainy out, sure, but all in all, it wasn't that bad a day.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red
Cryin's not for me
'Cause I'm never going to stop the rain by complainin'
Because I'm free
Nothin's worrying me

Ah life! It's not that bad, even with the rain.