So, I get a phone call from one of my housemates on Thursday evening telling me that the furnace had stopped working. Bugger, was my first thought — but that's not saying terribly much. Anyhow, we call the landlord and leave him a message saying we've got no heat and decide to go down to the bar and drink enough such that we don't feel cold that night. I'm pleased to report that this is a task we easily accomplished. The low on Thursday night was 27°F.
Friday comes around and it's a little bit chilly in our heat-less house, but it's not too bad and the landlord said he'd be around bright and early to try and fix the furnace. Bright and early turns out to mean about 1 o'clock — there'd be something of a pot and kettle situation if I were to comment on timekeeping though. Needless to say Pat, the landlord, and Don, the maintenance man, could not fix the broken furnace and we were assured that somebody will be round to look at it on Saturday. A 1500W space heater (three bar heater) is left to warm our large, draughty house, it doesn't do much in the way of warming. Once more we endeavour, and succeed in our endeavours (Yeah!), to drink ourselves warm. The low on Friday night was 20°F.
Saturday comes and Saturday goes and nobody comes to look at our furnace. Sadly the furnace doesn't miraculously perform a Lazarus act in honour of Christmas. Bastard furnace. Phone calls are made and action is promised, again. We all go out to a house party — the party even had it's own bartender, very nice — once more drunkenness is achieved. The low on Saturday night was 20°F, and the house was beginning to feel very, very cold. (So cold in fact that my, female, housemate spent the night in my bed for warmth.)
Sunday morning begins with the arrival of two more space heaters from Pat, the landlord. Whereas the first one looked like it was from the 70's the newer arrivals look like they may very well come from pre-World War II times. One of the sounds like a jet engine, and trips the breaker when we turn it on. After angry phone calls and threats of legal intervention, somebody comes to look at the furnace. They even take a bit of it, presumably a broken bit, away with them. Sunday night is spent getting drunk (again, but only slightly drunk not very drunk as it's a school night) and miserable (because the Falcons lost again, and are now coming perilously close to losing me lots of money). The low on Sunday night was 11°F. Yes 11°F. In proper money that's Fucking Cold!
Monday morning arrives and it's C.O.L.D. My jeans feel stiff as I pull them on. My hands start hurting as I dress myself. The thermometer in the sitting room says that it is 38°F. I think it's lying, it feels closer to 8°F. Bastard thermometer. Now the end of Monday is rapidly arriving and I don't want to call my housemates to find out if we have heating, for fear that the answer will not be the resounding "Yes" that I am hoping for. The predicted low on Monday night is 7°F.
One week ago I was swimming in the ocean off Waikiki at night. This weekend I had to turn the shower on to heat up the bathroom enough to use the toilet. This is definitive proof that not only does God exists, but he's a four letter word that starts with 'c' and rhymes with cunt. (I'll give you a clue, particularly Dr. Jenner if you're reading this, the word I was alluding to was cunt.)
In other news, Thursday also brought a letter from the Bureau of Motor Vehicles (BMV) informing Brit, of drunken bike riding fame, that he did not produce proof of insurance on the date of his incident, and further, that he did not produce proof of insurance at any subsequent point in the court proceedings. They informed him that he must take proof of insurance, both for the time of the incident and currently, to the BMV or face a three month license suspension and a $150 reinstatement fee. Needless, to say this did not make Brit particularly pleased. I however found it immensely entertaining, and more than a little messed up.
There were other things, but the cold has stopped my brain working. Well it's either the cold or the alcohol, and I'm betting on the cold.
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