He called the shit, poo.

Remember the Black Cloud o' Doom that I have inherited? The one that follows me everywhere? The one that I can't catch a break from?
Yeah....that one.
It striketh again.
And has possessed the soul of The Red One.

Friday, I noticed a little puddle on the floor of the basement. It was coming from a pipe, and since this is new construction, I have no idea which pipes lead to what, or what comes from which pipes. But it was small, I figured that with all the water I had been using, it just overshot the drain.

Oh no. I should have known better.
Because Saturday came, and there was a whole lotta water in the basement. And it stunk. Like a men's bathroom at a seedy gas station. Or Comerica Park. Or my ex-hubby. Hmm.

Upon closer inspection, it became evident that the gods of all that is freaktabular bestowed onto me, the gift of a backed up sewer. How awesome is that. So I was standing in shitwater. Literally. So disgusting.

I debated about calling the plumber that night or the next day, but when started to be able to identify what was floating in the water, I decided to call. Of course it was after hours. Of course it was a weekend. Of course it was a holiday weekend. Of course that meant a buttload of extra money. Christ-in-a-hotdog-bun.

Plumber came out from 6-8p. And $500 later, he said my pipes looked good except for the pair of underwear clogging the drain to the sewer. Oh and bytheway I'm going to have to replace the carpeting, because "that is never coming out". Wait, back up...underwear??? Um...yeah. When I was gloating about Rylan starting to potty train? Well gloating comes back to bite you in the ass. That karma thing, ya know. I was a freaking oblivious lying idiot, because he ditched his skivvies in the toilet. He has also tried to flush numerous rolls of toilet paper. Full rolls.

So he's grounded until he's 12.
And not allowed to wear underwear unless they're made of duct tape.